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THIS NUMBER CONTAINS 



By CAPTAIN CHARLES McILTAINE, 


O O X. :E 3 £3 . 



MONTHLY 

MAGAZINE 


lIPPIHCOfn, CONTENTS No. 3 M, 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS . 

. Captain Charles McUvaine 

. 1-79 

The Ducks of the Chesapeake . 

. . Calvin Dill Wilson . 

. 8o 

“ Mrs. Santa Claus” 


. 87 

The Yule Charm (Poem) .... 

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• 95 

Christmas Customs and Superstitions 

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. 96 

Yesterday (Quatrain) 


. lOI 

Mrs. Risley’s Christmas Dinner 

. . Ella Higginson . 

. 102 

Empress Josephine’s Happy Day . 

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. 104 

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. 1 10 

On Christes Day (Poem) .... 

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. 1 16 

Herbert Beerbohm Tree .... 

. . Gilbert Parker . 

. 117 

A Prodigal Friend 

. . S. Elgar Beftet . 

. 122 

To the New Year (Poem) .... 

. . Kathleen R, Wheeler, 

. 126 

By Telephone 


. 126 

New Year’s Days in Old New York . 

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. 136 

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THE WAIFS 

OF 

Fighting Rocks. 


BY 

CAPTAIN CHARLES MCILVATNE, 

• I 

AUTHOR OF 

“A LEGEND OF POLECAT HOLLOW,” “THE GHOST OF AARON’S PRONG,” 
“POWERFUL TEMPERANCE,” ETC. 





I 

PHILADELPHIA: 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 





Copyright, 1894, by J. B. Lippincott Company. 


Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia, U.S.A. 


LIPPINCOTT’S 


I^ONTHLY J^AGAZINE. 


JANUARY, 189 5. 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


CHAPTER I. 

I T was no idle fancy that gave Fighting Rocks their name. If ever 
there were rocks pugilistically inclined and giving evidence of 
many a hard-fought battle, those glaring at each other across Big Head 
Fork were the fighting phenomena. Even the bouncing, whirling, 
foaming Fork, jolly and sparkling as ever mountain torrent was, was 
compromised by contact with them, and foully slandered as one having 
a disposition to be all sorts of a belligerent under the comj)rehensive 
title of Big Head. Away back in the Carboniferous era of rock-making. 
Fighting Rocks had been cradled as snugly together as ever rocks were, 
to be covered by superimposed strata when the time came for it. What 
they fought about, and why they allowed a gossiping, teasing stream to 
come between them, are items lost from the stony records of their after- 
time. The only possible clue to the trouble lies in the immense veins 
of bituminous coal they once held in common, but now hold in greedy 
grips — just as they snapped them asunder — for seasons to crumble and 
men to peck at. They tower above Big Head Fork with angry faces, 
twisted, bloated, scratched, torn, patched with mosses, bandaged with 
creepers, poulticed with leaves and loam, spotted with swallows’ nests, 
their gouged eyes deep in cave sockets, their brows scowling and 
wrinkled with crease and furrow ; huge pines bristling with the wrath 
of centuries, and hemlocks prickly with scraggy anger, quiver and 
shake from forehead to crown and hiss at one another across the ravine, 
when storms are high and passions raging. Dark and forbidding they 
stand, leaning slightly over the stream (brave to run between such foes), 
hurling thundering echoes across, dropping huge boulders to crush each 
other’s protruding feet, until the space between them looks like a battle- 
ground piled with stone weapons and strewn with gigantic lances, whose 
shafts were the mighty forest trees now rotting in their midst. So the 
rocks were known to the mountaineers as Fighting Rocks, and just 
above them on Big Head Fork, where even the jolly little stream 


4 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


grumbles at the intruding stones and blusters at the narrow trail worm- 
ing its way across, is Fighting Rock Ford. Where the trail comes 
from, or whither it goes, is lost in the mystery of the divides and 
ravines that gutter and pierce the inexhaustible covering of fresh clean 
air on the vast regions of West Virginia’s mountain-ranges. Seeing, 
as Fighting Rocks have seen for ages from the corners of their eyes, the 
meek little meadow lying close across the Ford, scared into trembles by 
their racket and roar, they might have stayed their battle to let Peace 
settle on the lovely spot ‘for gentle nursing of their calmer echoes. But 
the meadow, with its paw-paw groves and maple clusters, its point of 
clear and broader rise of orchard, had always been the scene of jar and 
discord ; so it, too, inherited a pugnacious name in Fighting Point. 
Here in the olden times rival Indian tribes had met and fought, and 
left their darts and bones for dashing rainfalls to lay bare upon its sur- 
face. Later, land-surveyors used their Jacob-staffs and smashed their 
compasses in settling lines and points of law that neither compasses nor 
courts could find solution of in any less combative way. Broken heads 
and broken vows had been the heritage of every couple squatting in its 
lonely cabin ; until, at last, the very logs had parted, the doors divorced 
their hinges, and every clapboard of the contentious roof was slapping 
at its neighbor. 

Notwithstanding its brawling record and name amenable to question. 
Hedge Haruer had long had his brown eyes set in longing at two ob- 
jects resting upon the uttermost horizon of, to him, alt things delectable : 
one was Maggie Byrne, commonly called Peggy, and the other was 
Fighting Point, as a place to put her after he had secured brief of title 
to her in the form of a marriage certificate. 

Fighting Rock Point being held as a belonging by eight legally 
parchmented holders. Hedge Harner conceived the mathematical idea 
that he could score one more point in the law for himself by subtract- 
ing their claims from the number proverbially assigned to possession. 

Therefore, one Sunday morning, he stuck a piece of bacon on a peg, 
washed his shirt in Big Head Fork, and hung it up in the tumble-down 
cabin to dry, as all-sufficient notice to intruders, however authorized, 
that he there had his board and washing to establish residence beyond 
a doubt, even should the eight litigious owners unite to put him out; 
which was beyond any human probability suggesting itself to his experi- 
ence. The robins and orioles, in total disregard of Sunday obligations, 
were busy arranging matrimonial affairs and attending to housekeeping 
matters, among the pink-clad and scented apple boughs. Cardinal 
grosbeaks, swelling in the pride of their scarlet uniforms, were filling 
the air with bombastic song to their mates in Quaker garb; tomtits 
poked their tack-like beaks into vine crannies and bark nooks, bobbing 
their velvety heads and twittering jerky love; tiny warblers, subdued 
in dress as the first of autumn trees, peered and pecked between the 
cabin’s open ribs, and theirs were the only eyes that saw Hedge Harner 
stretched in the latticed sunlight on the equally latticed floor, waiting 
for his shirt to dry, that he might climb the point at Fighting Rocks 
and over the divide to Poplar Branch, where Peggy dwelt. 

As Hedge lay stretched upon the rotten floor, his thoughts were 


THE WAIFS OF FIOHTINO ROCKS. 


5 


crowded, notched, and jumbled, like tlie sticks in the open wickered 
and daubed chimney at which he stared in lazy contentment. I 
reckon V\\ git her. Fll hev to patch this shanty up a bit, though : 
them logs is kinder openish. The chimbley^s leaky ez a corn-basket; 
but the ole roof ^11 let the smoke out. 1^11 ax Peggy, anyway. She can’t 
say no more nor no, no time. Geewuts ! I wish 1 had her done axed, 
an’ it done over. Ef she says ‘ No,’ I’ll take down the bacon an’ light 
out. No, denied if I will ! Ef I git her axed the wust of the job’s 
done. Hit’s kind uv home-feelin’ yere, so yere I’ll stay. ’Tain’t every 
feller thet hez a kiver, ez the tortle said to the crow pickin’ at him, an’ 
telled him he’d best scrimmage round fer soft victuals. The floor’ll 
do, I reckon, till winter comes ag’in. Hit’s kinder floppy an’ upsettin’ 
fer cheers, — thet’s so ! — an’ onragler fer a grub table, but I kin splice 
the legs till they touches somethin’.” 

Hedge laughed a merry, hearty laugh, as he continued, We kin 
take turn about boldin’ it up while we’re eatin’. I’ll hev to fix up a 
place fer the bed, er we’ll git dumped. I reckon Peg’ll git a right 
spell, an’ cut a right caper, ef I ax her to live yere at Fightin’ P’int. 
Women git sich crosswise notions in the’r heads, ez the kingfisher 
said to the catfish when he couldn’t git him swallered fer his stickers. 
People’ll put her up to a sight uv contrariness ’bout it. I’ll hev no 
fightin’ whar I am ; ’tain’t mannerly ; an’ it’s wuss nor seesawin’ on a 
sharj) rail, jawin’ back’ard an’ forrid an’ sassin’. I’ll be good to her, 
an’ smoothin’. Peggy’s kinder briery chance times. She sets nigher 
an’ steadier than she use’ ter : ther’s not ez much jumpin’ an’ lookin’ 
uppish when I tech her, sparkin’-like. T’other night when I said, 
‘Peg, what are you settin’ so fur off fer?’ an’ she said, ‘’Tain’t my 
fault. Hedge,’ lookin’ smilin’ an’ cutersome, she wuz kinder takin’ to 
it nateral-like, like pigs does to taters. She didn’t hunch none when 
I moved up ’longside uv her. Thet’s the time to ax her, — when she’s 
cutersome an’ smilin’. Ther’s nothin’ ez skittish ez a girl thet hain’t 
hobbled with keerin’ fer a feller. Peggy’s hobbled, an’ it’s me thet’s 
the hobbler. (That sun’s movin’ in yere, right where I’m layin’.) I 
tell you, Peg,” he exclaimed, aloud, as he brought his fist down em- 
phatically upon the floor, “ I keer fer you till I git betted up ez hot ez 
that sun is, an’ a kind uv mis’ry thet’s wuss than the fever. Hit’s 
bubble an’ bust, like mush a-b’ilin’. Geewuts ! hit’s cornin’ on now.” 
Hedge turned over uneasily out of the sun’s way. One of the wide 
oaken floor boards bent, cracked, gave way with a bang under his 
weight, then left him doubled up V-shaped, with feet and head doing 
salutation on a sudden and unexpected meeting. 

“Geewuts!” he exclaimed, “hit’s a blessin’ ther’s no cellar. I’d 
’a’ dropped like a bar through a bar-trap. I’m kinder jubious ’bout 
how Peg ud take to stickin’ this way, ef she chanced to git dropped : 
she might git riled. I done reckon I’ll hev to patch this yere floor up 
a bit.” 

It was with no little trouble that Hedge squirmed out of the pre- 
dicament he was in. When he once more got his feet in their proper 
place, and had assured himself by much rubbing that he had whole skin 
and ribs left, he stood looking thoughtfully at the black gap in the floor. 


G 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


That were a sucldin hend in the path, ez the old woman said 
when she walked inter the well. I’ll hev to jim aroun’ an’ fix this 
place up. It hain’t goin’ to do with Peggy, to be too forrid in axin’ 
her. Ef I want to git her to come to Fightin’ P’int an’ live ’long 
with me, I’d best sidle up to her cunnin’-like, like catchin’ a boss with 
a nubbin uv corn. Women is easy cotched, but they don’t take kind 
to halterin’. Pcggy’ll think an all-fired sight more uv me ef I lead 
her to my home by the top-knot, with her eyes unkivered, an’ kin 
show her a good stall. I’ll j’ine workin’ in arnest, an’ fix up the ole 
place so she won’t nigh stick her feet up through the roof, an’ set 
lookin’ at ’em, with nothin’ under her ’cept slivers an’ a hole, like I 
done just now. I’ll j’ine fixin’ the ole place in arnest. It’ll take right 
smart titivation. I’ll mend the fences, an’ plant a crop an’ tend it, an’ 
plant some ingins an’ taters, an’ some posies, an’ chance times I kin 
rive out some clapboards fer roofin’ the cabin, an’ wet days I kin 
hammer ’em on. I’ll rid the ole place up so it’ll be decent fer to stall 
a woman in, an’ purty an’ scrumptious. Geewuts ! what a time I’ll 
hev keepin’ my mouth shet ’bout who’s the girl I’m doin’ it fer ! Hit 
’ll make Peg cur’ous, an’ j’alous, an’ them’s good vsparkin’ signs. When 
I gits it done done, I kin tell her it’s fer her, an’ I’ll hev some backin’, 
an’ somethin’ to show fer it. I kinder ’spicion it’ll help me to git a 
scald on the right words fer to ax her in. I kin take her some ingins 
uv my own raisin’ ; an’ taters uv my own growin’ ; an’ — ha ! ha ! — an 
ear uv corn uv my own tendin’ to coax her to my own home with. 
I’ll git to work ; it’ll be workin’ fer Peggy an’ grub.” 

What a fertilizer love is ! It had never occurred to Hedge Harner, 
before he went through the cabin floor, that what was good enough for 
him was not good enough for any other body ; that there was any other 
way of disposing of life than gittin’ ’long somehow,” that “gittin’ 
j’ined” involved more than takin’ a feller” by the woman, and gittin’ 
a dough-baker” by the man, and having licensed ^‘sparkin’” as long 
as no fightin’ an’ corn an’ taters lasted.” But now Hedge Harner 
looked as though a new growth had started in him. It flushed his 
face with happy purpose; it sprung his well-knit form from careless 
laziness to the erectness of determined action ; it prompted him to 
plunge his head and arms into his half-dried shirt, and to thank its 
rents that he was not smothered before getting out of it; to wash his 
sun-browned face; to finger-comb the sparkling water of the spring 
through his curly hair, until it matted together in cleanly glossiness ; 
and then to start, with his half-brirnmed hat stuck bravely on his head, 
across Big Head Fork, up the tangled trail surmounting Fighting 
Rocks, and away across the spur to the cabin of his sworn friend and 
fearless defender. Granny Lovett, that he might tell her of the new sap 
coursing his veins, and the buds of expectancy it was fostering. What 
a fertilizer love is ! 

Hedge Hamer’s life was a one-chaptered history. Even the preface 
was lost, and the introduction missing. Twenty-two years before this 
his squatting on Fighting Rock Point, he was found poked in the 
sleeve of a soldier’s coat, having nothing about it to mark the owner- 
ship excepting the quality of the cloth and the stamp upon its cuff- 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


7 


buttons ; these told that it once belonged to a Federal officer of cavalry. 
Just enough of him was sticking out of one end of it for him to get air 
for instinctive yelling, and at the other to show that the sleeve was his 
only garment and inheritance. 

It so happened that this mite of a castaway was sowing his yells 
by the wayside, and that they were growing with remarkable vigor 
upon the fertile soil of practice, when Jude Lovett, full-faced and red, 
was breasting her way through the dense fog bedding itself in the 
narrow valley of Lower Big Head ; breasting it ahead of her with 
rounded prow calicoed to the solidity and shape of a Dutch lug- 
ger. Every mother sense in her took cognizance of the cries. Great 
nations she ejaculated, with such explosive astonishment that even 
the heavy mist propping itself against the mountain-side failed to hold 
it back from echo, — great nations ! I believe thaFs another un. One 
las’ night, an’ one this mornin’. Poor little creeter! it must be a 
throw-away.” 

She hurried along the stony pathway, with the compassion holding 
divine birthright in womankind driving every muscle, until she got 
eye-knowledge of a real presence. There, in the midst of a wild- 
sumach-, brier-, thorn-, and vine-woven hedge, lay the curious human 
chrysalis, struggling to escape its woollen shield. 

Poor leetle creeter !’’ she crooned, as she cuddled the encased baby 
and swung it from side to side, after the manner of shaking a jug, to 
mix comfort with trouble. Whose kin be you, I wunner?” 

The long list of apprentice mothers and likely amateurs, unrolling 
itself by the force of shrewd study in Jude Lovett’s mind, was not 
complimentary to the morals of Big Head Fork region, as she ticked 
them off with negative shake of her head or bob of possibility. Poor 
leetle creeter ! Here you air squallin’ an’ kickin’, an’ young Susie 
Hamer’s leetle un is layin’ dead back yander in the cabin, an’ her 
a-frettin’ over it bein’ born that-a-way. Ther’s babies alius a-comin 
an’ alius a-goin’. Like’s not the good Lord hez sent you fer a comfort 
fer her. I’ll take you back to her, anyway, an’ lay you ’longside uv 
her. Maybe she’ll take a notion to you. Ef I had your own mean- 
sperited mother here, I’d chuck her in the briers whar I found you, an’ 
I’d set on her till she repinted. But, poor gal, maybe she’s frettin’ too 
— who knows? Maybe she’s frettin’ an’ needin’ comfortin’: jest like 
ez not. I’ll carry you ’long home with me, an’ take good keer uv you 
till you grow up. One more won’t make no difference in ray cabin. 
The good Lord said, ^ Suffer leetle children to come unto me,’ an’ he’s 
showed a power uv marcy to me that-a-way. But you’d hev a welcome, 
an’ all you could eat an’ drink. Poor leetle throw-away ! no fayther, 
nor mother, nor nothin’. But I’m thinkin’ you’ll do Susie a power uv 
good. Maybe she’ll pick at you at fust, fer you’re jist like a chickin 
hatched on the hearth; no hen’ll own you. Ef she don’t took to you 
right, I’ll took keer uv you right. - I’ll took keer uv you. Thar now ! 
stop cryin’. Ther’ ain’t nary a mansion but one in my house, but I’ll 
be a fayther to you (near’s I kin), an’ you’ll be another un the good 
Lord hez allowed me.” 

The fog had hardly settled in Jude Lovett’s wake before she had 


8 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


turned back on tlie path and was breasting it again to Ben Harner^s 
cabin, filled with good intent, and her kind heart fortified by baby 
outworks. 

Jude Lovett was a mother by divine inscription. Every line of her 
figure was overspread with the signs of it. The well-combed crinkles 
of her hair were such as babies love to rumple; her rounded features, 
full of kindness and fun, were resting-places for babies’ eyes; the soft 
creases of her chin and neck were playing-grounds for tiny hands; her 
broad lap was upholstered for habitual bouncing; her feet were round 
as crad le- rockers ; and her cushioned arms were bent with the baby 
crook. Small as was the rectangular pen of logs in which she lived, 
it was a mammoth play-house, with peep-holes between the logs, 
hiding-places behind dra{)ery of hanging skirts and under nests of beds, 
parallel bars in quilting-frames swung from the low rafters, jumpers 
on the springy floor-boards, swings wherever bough-hook or catchable 
bundle was within reach, flat-irons for soldiers, chairs for forts, dogs for 
horses, cats for whirligigs, kittens for sub- babies, the chimney-corners 
for a nursery, charitable mud-holes outside furnishing the necessities of 
child-life in all things, especially pie-supply. White-headed young- 
sters (graduated to the suspended skirts), bearing the blue-eyed, round- 
faced, sturdy-limbed, curly-haired trade-mark of the Lovetts, were 
duplicated in age by black-, brown-, and gray-eyed companions of all 
angles and crooks, of both legalized and unrecorded paternity. For 
Jude Lovett was never contented except when she had a baby of her 
own to bring up, supplemented by some waif, stray, or orphan to receive 
her overflow of motherly love and care. When the baby supply was 
limited, she sought consolation in being mother by proxy to any in- 
coming infant arriving at droughty periods; and therefore, as years 
rounded her up with flesh and experience, she shared the name of 
Jude” with ^‘Granny” until she was best known among the genera- 
tion she especially mothered as Granny Lovett. In this latter character 
she had spent the night at Ben Hamer’s cabin, and thither she was now 
hurrying wdth her armful of comfort, to lay it beside his young wife, 
Susie, and so filled with fervor and thankfulness to her good Lord for 
making seeming restitution of a living baby for a dead one that she 
entirely forgot her own motherly cupidity. 

In the cabin the little throw-away was welcomed with brightened 
eyes, faint flush of joy, and smile of eagerness to clasp something with 
life and warmth where death had laid but icy disappointment. 

Just look what I’ve fetched you, Susie,” Granny gasped, as she 
pulled the baby out of the coat-sleeve, after the manner of uncasing a 
pillow. The good Lord meaned him fer you. Hit’s the Prodigal’s 
return to — his mammy, ez the good Book says. Ther’ wuz weepin’, an’ 
wailin’, an crackin’ your teeth, Rache — Susie frettin’ fer her fust un, 
an’ wouldn’t take nothin’ to eat nor comfortin’. An’ now yere’s a baby, 
failin’ frum goodness knows whar (heaven, I mean), alive an’ kickin’ 
in a hedgerow, like Moses in the bulrushes, an’ nobody knows whither 
he come frum er whither he’s goin’ to. I ’spicion he’s hungry ez a 
leetle pig, an’ him roarin’ like a lion seekin’ somethin’ to eat. Yere 
he is, Susie; ez fine, healthy-a-lookin’ a young un ez ever wuz borned. 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


9 


I^d V took him hum myself, but I done look upon it ez the Lord’s 
rnarcy to you-uns, an’ a sign fer me thet I hev enough, sendin’ him 
this-a-way to you an’ Ben. A fool fer luck, ez Solomon sez, an’ a poor 
man fer babies. Now, don’t him an’ her look purty, Ben ? Look, Ben !” 

Granny Lovett was right. It was a pretty sight. All the time 
she was quoting Scripture after her own peculiar ideas of what it ought 
to be to suit the circumstances, she was busy nestling the child beside 
the wondering and delighted Susie, who turned lovingly to lay her 
arms about it. Ben Harner sat down on the bedside to smooth the 
hair of his wife, as she looked up to him pleadingly for permission to 
keep it. He answered her look with the kind words, Whatever you 
say, Susie, I’m agreed to. Hit don’t ’pear to me it ud be doin’ the 
Christian thing to turn sich a leetle thing frum our door.” 

Then I’ll keep it, Ben. I kin hev it to call mine, anyway. I’m 
mighty glad. It feels so good to me.” She smiled again in a little 
while, as she said, We’ll call him Hedgerow, — Hedgerow Harner; 
’cause that’s where Granny finded him, — in a hedgerow.” 

‘‘ Hit’s a fittin’ name, the fust uv it,” assented Ben. 

^^Amen!” shouted Granny Lovett, much in earnest, and more in 
fun. ’Tain’t everybody thet would hev got him, I kin tell you. Ef 
it hadn’t been you wuz needin’ one so bad, Susie, an’ I hadn’t took it 
fer a sign fer me to stop, I’d ’a’ took him to my hum an’ fotched him 
up myself. The Lord is marciful to drunken men an’ babies, ez the 
Scrip — the almanac says.” 

This was the beginning of the chapter. The coat-sleeve was hung 
up on a nail in Ben Hamer’s cabin, like a garment in a morgue, for 
the identification of the throw-away, who now, dead to his own parents, 
was born again and regularly installed as Hedgerow Harner; meeting, 
however, with the loss of part of his name before the sun went down, 
for Ben and Susie dropped the ‘‘row,” to call him only “Leetle 
Hedge.” There he grew and thrived, and stood valiantly for his 
priority rights against the crowd of his successors. 

He passed the age of the serpent’s curse, stood upright with chair 
assistance, obtained legitimately his dread of fire, displayed the usual 
button, penny, and thimble eccentricities in matter of diet, bravely cut 
his first tooth on a piece of bacon-rind, had full allotment of tumbles, 
pinched fingers, and bumps, and mastered the infantile vocabulary of 
boo, moo, bow-wow, ah, bah, mom, pop, and the syllabic difficulties of 
quoo-roo. 

The slip and barefooted paragraphs of his history were succeeded 
by pantaloons and patches, and the various dramatic passages in fights 
with gobblers, contests with dogs, dances with hornets, and dances in 
and out of time to slippers, switches, bare hands, mush-sticks, and 
brooms. 

If Granny Lovett did not count him in, in her annual account of 
children, as a job lot, she nevertheless reckoned her interest in him as 
worthy constant guardianship, and testifying tramps to see him, until 
his shapely legs were stout enough to mount the trail and carry him, 
with boyish strut, to Granny Lovett’s cabin, there to make report with 
kiss and hug of love returned and example hoarded. 


10 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


Page after page, numbered by days and years, of slow event, such as 
record the fishing, hunting, trading, frolicking, fighting, sparking, scant 
working, and scant living career of a West Virginia mountaineer’s 
life, were added to the simple history ; and now Hedge Harner, hand- 
some and sinewy, quick-witted, good-humored, idle, was poor as the 
day he was first clasped in Granny Lovett’s arms, excepting so far as a 
two-sleeved shirt, a pair of pantaloons, and a fraction of a hat increased 
his share of gain from coming into this world. 

But now a hand was upon the leaf, turning it for the writing of a 
new chapter ; and that hand was the master-hand of love. 

Hedge sung and whistled, shouted to the crows and eagles, as he 
crossed the rocky point and neared Granny Lovett’s cabin, where a 
shout of laughter greeted him from the door as he turned a lot of hand- 
springs and stood upside down before the shaking superfluousness of 
the laughing dame. 

‘‘Great nations. Hedge, what air you cornin’ here fer, whirlin’ like 
a twistin’-wheel without a rim ?” she asked, in jolly surprise, as Hedge 
turned to his feet and posed before her in attitude of well-feigned 
misery. 

“ Hit’s high noon, granny, an’ I’m hungry ez a preacher at a corn- 
huskin’. I was try in’ to fetch my breakfast back.” 

“Did you hev luck. Hedge?” laughed Granny. 

“ Not a hate. Kin you give a poor feller thet’s empty ez an eel- 
skin a bit uv grub? My innards thinks my throat’s cut.” 

“ You’re jist ez foolin’ ez ever. Hedge, — alius foolin’. The woman 
that gits you fer a man’ll never die uv sorrow. She’ll alius hev a 
mess uv laughin’ about the house. Pack me in a load uv wood. 
Hedge, an’ I’ll soon hev a bite fer you. If you asks fer fishes you 
won’t git stones in my house, ary time ; ez the Scripter says.” 

“ No feller knows that better ner I do, granny. You’ve alius been 
powerful good to me. I’ll hack up a pile uv wood fer you while 
you’re gittin’ it. Where’s the children ?” 

Granny Lovett laughed again. “ You wouldn’t git no dinner afore 
sundown. Hedge, ef I j’ined tellin’ you whar all uv ’em is. Fifteen 
uv pop’s an’ mine afore he died : them’s the ones I calls the raglers. 
Then thar’s two that got left frum timber-rafts down the river an’ 
never wiiz called fer : them’s the strays. They wuz hungered, an’ I 
took ’em in; wantin’ somethin’ to drink, an’ I guv it to ’em an’ no 
begrudgin’, ez the Book sez. Thar wuz poor Vic Young’s baby, an’ 
Beck Myers’s boy, thet she quitted in her cabin a-starvin’ when she 
runned away with Tom Cavin ; Vic went to that burn frum which no 
traveller gits back (I hope that burn don’t mean hell’s fire. Hedge; fer 
it weren’t Vic’s fault): them two I calls lefts. An’ four uv Lige 
Lovett’s children (pop’s brother, you mind him, thet wuz killed in 
the war, an’ Jane Marthy — Aunt Marthy, you mind her — died with it 
in her heart when she heerd the news. An’ she said with her dyin’ 
breatli thet Jude Lovett would keer fer ’em. An’ so I did. Hedge, 
like they were my own). Pop’s sheer, I calls them, ’cause they wuz 
his kin. An’ five uv my sister’s young uns, — Mary Susan Greene’s; 
she died suddint of subonia” (pneumonia). “Sam Greene, her man. 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


11 


wuz a no-account feller : so I took ^em, an’ he’s never come fer ’em to 
this day. Pop an’ me called ’em mom’s sheer, — kinder countin’ mine 
ag’in’ his sheer. He use’ ter laugh at me fer bein’ one ahead. He 
wuz a good-hearted man, an’ didn’t keer. ‘ More’s the merrier, mom,’ 
he use’ ter say ; ^fotch ’em along, an’ I’ll plant more taters.’ He wuz 
a workersome man, pop wuz, an’ hed a nateral likin’ fer childern. 
Hit were a ter’ble loss when he died, three year ago the ninth day uv 
November. He wuz never so pleased ez when he wiiz playin’ mule- 
kickin’, with a hull lot uv ’em on his back, an’ a hull lot uv ’em 
leadin’ him, an’ a passel uv ’em twistin’ his coat-tail to make him go. 
You mind you use’ ter help, many’s the time, when you come frum 
Ben’s up to see your ole granny an’ play. Then there wuz the two 
pick-ups, — Dillie Mellon an’ Mose Hayes, — thet I jist picked up an’ 
run off with, ’cause they wuz gittin’ nothin’ but lickin’s an’ beatin’s at 
home. I give Jake Mellon an’ Alviry Hayes three bushel an’ two 
pecks uv ingins fer ’em, an’ I told ’em ef ever they come round my 
place fer ’em I’d pour the kittle on ’em. Thet’s what I said, Hedge; 
none uv your vials uv wrath, but kittles uv hot water. An’ they 
knowed I’d scald ’em well, afore I’d give ’em the poor childern to ill- 
treat ag’in.” Granny Lovett’s face showed plainly, by a stern set of 
its kindliness, that her compassion was backed by courage. It changed 
after a moment’s thought, to show mixed feelings working with its 
muscles. 

^^Then, Hedge,” Granny continued, ^Ghar’s the two throw-aways. 
Elderberry — Great nations, Hedge, what a sight uv comfort she’s been 
to me ! Blessed is them thet mourn, for they shall hev comfortin’, 
ef they wait long enough : that’s what the good Lord promises ; an’ 
that’s what I said when pop died, an’ Berry come to me with a plate 
uv vittles, an’ fixed up my hair, tender ez a baby’s, while I wuz eatin’ 
uv ’em. She’s jist ez lovin’ ez a pigeon nestin’-time, an’ ez purty ez a 
lily uv the field, an’ Solomon in all his glory wuzn’t ez purty ez her, 
whether she’s fixed up er not; ez the good Book says. I finded her in 
the elderberry-bushes, down by Sank Roberts’s cabin on Jurdan Creek, 
an’, dear little creeter, she wuz nigh dead, an’ white ez the elder-blos- 
soms thet almost kivered her. Thet’s why I named her Elderberry, 
— Berry fer short ; an’ she’s ez full uv goodness ez any berry thet ever 
growed. If I wuz a young feller like you. Hedge, I know what tree 
I’d light on ef I wuz goin’ to pick one.” 

Hedge smiled knowingly, then said, rather sheepishly, I hain’t 
got the peg I want fer lightin’ on yit, but I’m goin’ to light ez soon ez 
I kin. I come over to tell you ’bout it, granny.” 

Granny Lovett did not take the hint. Her motherly ferment was 
still frothing over with memories, and the roster of her nurslings must 
continue as long as the several ranks remained to be told off. ^‘But 
that other throw-away,” she said, with an expression of regretful sorrow, 
I never hed no good uv him noway. Hedge. He’s been a snag in 
my flesh ever since I finded him in the fence-corner ez I wuz cornin’ 
home frum night meetin’ at Jurdan school-house, more’n twenty year 
ago. His leetle back was hurted by the chuckin’ among the stones. I 
nussed him night an’ day, an’ pop an’ me tended him fer the mis’ries in 


12 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


his back, an’ whoopin’-cougli, an’ chickin-pox, an’ mumps, an’ the fever, 
an’ give him our name, — ez forrid a name an’ lionest ez there is in this 
hull kentry, — an’ tried to fetch him up on the right trail, so’s when he 
gits old he’ll not depart frura it. I hope the good Lord’ll forgive me, 
Heclge, fer sayin’ it, but it’s best out, like the measles ; Fence Corner 
Lovett is just mean enough fer anything ; the Old Scratcli himself 
can’t outstrip him fer meanness. I hain’t a-keerin’ what he says to 
me, fer he’s a poor cripple, ef he is ez strong ez an ox ; an’ I’ve 
spared the saplin’ many a time, an’ sp’iled the child, an’ hez to bear 
the judgment fer it, if he biteth like a sarpint an’ sasses like an adder. 
But yere he is, now, worritin’ the life out uv Berry fer to marry him, 
— him crooked ez a toad, an’ her sleek ez a poplar. He’s alius spyin’ 
on her, an’ j’alous, an’ alius gittin’ big-head ; an’ them brought up 
children together like David an’ Jonathan, — only she’s a girl. I’m 
alius a-frettin’ fearin’ he’ll do her a harm ; fer she won’t hev him. 
I’d rather find her lyin’ among the elderberry-bushes, dead, than her 
hisn.” 

Hedge tried to break in on her recital of sorrow as the tears came 
into her eyes, and she swung backward and forward in the cabin door, 
with an overbalance of woe. He got as far as to say, emphatically. 
Cor. shan’t tech Berry ; she’s” — when Granny’s slow fuse to passion 
burned up again to an explosive point. I knows it. Hedge; I knows 
it. You’ll not let him tech her. She takes to you powerful ; she 
alius wuz your leetle sweetheart. I mind how you alius gave her the 
biggest mud pies when you wuz playin’ keepin’ cabin together, an’ the 
biggest chips fer slices uv bacon. You’ll pertect her, I know you will ; 
an’ you’ll hev the blessin’ uv your ole granny, thet found you in the 
hedgerow, an’ out uv the mouths uv babes an’ sucklin’s wuz cornin’ 
yellin’ ; that’s likelier to come than wisdom, ez the Scripter says. An’ 
I’ve hed an eye on you iver since, an’ keers fer you ez much ez them 
thet’s pop’s an’ mom’s, raglers, an’ more’n all them thet I’ve put down 
with a bit uv coal on the inside uv pop’s ole trunk-lid, yere in the 
cabin, ’long with nine gangs uv fours crossed, — like pop showed me 
how to keep tally, — makin’ forty-five thet I’ve grannied fer other uns. 
You’ve been a sight uv comfort to me, Hedge, an’ I know you’ll keer 
for Berry ag’in’ that measly Corner. Poor feller ! I wonder if he’s 
hed his dinner. He hain’t been here since mornin’. Carry in the 
wood. Hedge. Great nations ! I clean forgetted about your turnin’ 
over empty, an’ me to git you somethin’. Some uv the children’ll 
stop ez the’re cornin’ frum meetin’. Berry she’s down to the spring 
arter water. She said she’d fool a bit arter water, an’ git a han’ful uv 
posies fer me. She’s alius doin’ somethin’ comfortin’. Fetch the 
wood.” 

April suns and April showers had just given the mountain-sides 
their first coat of green ; had just made the winter crown of the white- 
fenceil yard about Granny Lovett’s cabin a background for golden 
dandelions, shining plantain clusters, rayed frills of dock, and bristling 
tufts of grass spears. Even the senseless logs in the wood-pile had here 
and there made a sickly effort, under their genial warmth, to bring 
forth leaves and buds, as the season prompted and custom sanctioned. 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


13 


The clapboards were cleanly gray from the washing ; the stone chimney- 
stack, buttressing the logs in staid solemnity, was bright in its white- 
washed company and darker shadow, where the sun-rays cheered it up. 
The cabin window stood open for the block of light it caught to lay as 
golden tablet on the cabin floor ; and the paper curtain waved in 
crackling joy, as now and then it joined with the wind in play to 
keep the intruder out. Below, the cove-like bench on the mountain- 
side, known as Granny Lovett’s clearing, and the wooded nooks of 
Big Head Fork, were domed with new-leaved beeches and spired with 
never-fading hemlock. Their turreted walls were rich with the yellow 
bloom of the leafless spice-bush, armored with the newly-made ivy 
shields, and steeled by cold gray lichens plated upon the sandy rocks. 

Although it was Sunday, the echoes played with the sharp blows 
of Hedge’s axe, and cleft the clear air with wedge of sound incisive 
as the blade making the chips fly by earnest chopping. Granny Lovett 
was busy within the cabin, stirring up the coals in the wide fireplace, 
and, down on her knees and hands upon the hearth, was transforming 
herself into a mighty bellows, that sent ashes and sparks, smoke and 
flame, to climb the sooty chimney. Suddenly Hedge stopped on a 
stick half cut, whirled the axe about his head, and brought it down 
with a one-handed blow that sunk it deep into the log to stay until 
next wanted. He laughed merrily, as he wiped his sweated face upon 
his sleeve, then sauntered leisurely to the cabin door, his eyes alive 
with twinkles, to say to Granny Lovett, now red as the morocco of 
her wooden counterpart, I forgetted this wuz Sunday, granny; I 
b’lieve I need a day of rest.” 

Great nations. Hedge! what do you need restin’ fer? You kin 
wwk ez well ez any man livin’, an’ so you do, chance times, when 
you’re helpin’ some poor body beside yourself ; but t’other times you 
don’t do ez much ez a cat. You take no thought of to-morrer, what 
you shall eat, or what you shall drink, er what clothes you’re goin’ to 
put on, ary time; ez the Lord tells us. But I’m kinder thinkin’ they 
must hev been a heap more givin’er kind uv people in them days than 
they air now.” 

Thet’s ’cause I only hev one shirt, granny. ’Pears to me there 
hain’t much ch’ice in one uv a thing. I’m goin’ to work now, in 
arnest. I’ve moved in the old cabin at Fightin’ P’int, an’ hev my 
board an’ washiii’ there. I’m goin’ to fix her up scrumptious, an’ plant 
a gardin, an’ ’tend a patch there, ef I kin borry some seed, an’ a hoe, 
an’ some jimmin’ tricks.” 

Great nations. Hedge 1” exclaimed Granny, sitting upright before 
the now blazing wood, as if impaled by astonishment, — great nations ! 
what’s got inter you? My oxen an’ my fatlin’s are killed, come unto 
the weddin’. Is that it. Hedge? Air you thinkin’ uv gittin’ j’ined ?” 
Then motherly curiosity bounced all surprise out of her. ‘‘ Who’s the 
girl. Hedge?” 

Hedge found himself confronted by a formidable confession and a 
likely shower of advice, that he had not braced himself for : so he 
skirted the obstruction in the way of candor with a hybrid laugh, — a 
cross between evasiveness and bashfulness and fun : ‘‘I forgetted this 


14 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


was Sunday, granny. I believe I need restin’ before beginnin’ work in 
arnest, an’ sich a hefty job ez packin’ hum a woman.” 

Thet’s right, Hedge ; thet’s p’intedly right. Remember the Sab- 
bath day to keep it holy, ef thar’s enough kindlin’ cut, an’ wood fer 
washin’-day, — Monday, — ez the Scripter says.” 

Granny’s curiosity was relaxing the stiffness of her astonishment 
and wilting her to supplicating attitude. Who’s the girl, Hedgy 
dear ?” she repeated. ‘‘ I hope it hain’t Peggy Byrne. They say you’ve 
been keepin’ company with her purty ragler this while back. I’ve 
got nothin’ ag’in’ Peggy, ’cept she hasn’t the saft answer alius handy 
’bout her to turn away her own wrath, ez the good Book says, — my 
way uv speakin’ it. ’Pears to me that’s the way the Lord meaned it : 
answer saft when you’ve got a mad on. T’other way means you’ll git 
a tongue-lashin’ ef you don’t. Be keerful, Hedge; you won’t stand 
tongue-lashin’ good.” 

Hedge laughed in his careless, happy way. ^^She hain’t telled me 
who she is yit, granny. Han’ me a pail, an’ I’ll fetch it full uv water 
from the spring.” 

Granny Lovett’s face became redolent with a rush of joyous sur- 
mise, as she caught in his words promise of a cherished hope that 
Hedge would keer fer Berry fer all time to come.” She hastily rose 
by hand and knee help, after the manner of babies, to tottering perpen- 
dicularity, and straightway grabbed the wooden pail from its bench to 
hurry it into Hedge’s waiting hand. 

You’ll find her at the spring er thereabouts, foolin’ round, pickin’ 
posies fer me. I hev water enough. You need restin’, so you do. 
So does Berry ; she’s a good worker an’ a good girl. You both need 
restin’. Great nations ! you needn’t speed ; the fire’s slow, an’ I’ll keep 
things warm fer you, ef your dinner gits done afore you does. I’ll 
give you a pair uv quilts, the’r likes hain’t in these parts; an’ lend 
you a hoe, an’ all the garden in’-seeds you want. You needn’t speed. 
Hedge.” 

Hedge Harner had never taken life into partnership with him. 
He was intimate with it, friendly to it, enjoyed it; but it was to him — 
if he ever thought of it by chance in any serious way — nothing more 
than a jolly companion, to be lived with, endured, and, in a joking 
way, cheated as much as possible. The idea of marrying Berry, as 
suggested by Granny Lovett, was as big a piece of fun as he had 
listened to for many a day. ‘^What fun he would have foolin’ 
Granny !” was the first monkey notion popping out of his mental box, 
and, monkey-like, he proceeded to play with it. But his real reason 
for slinging away his axe and starting for the spring was, in his good- 
heartedness, to know how much Corner Lovett had worried Berry, and 
to assure her of his help if ever needed. 

Swinging the bucket by its bail, he gladdened the excited Granny’s 
heart by a co-operative look, disappeared around* the cabin’s corner, 
went out the back gate of the yard, wended the well-worn path between 
the ])ig-pen, corn-crib, and open-legged adjunct for all rebellious or 
necessitous animals, then struck the stone-jutted, wash-narrowed, laurel- 
bound, well-patted path to the spring, singing, with a voice rich in 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 15 

natural tones but prolific in surprising squawks when up in the flighty 
region of the higher notes, — 

When I can read my title clear 
To mansions in the skies/’ 

The spring from the mountain-side was too modest to show itself 
with fussy bubble. The necessities of the cabin had involved it with 
a dip-hole; had it not been for this, it would have glided silently out 
of the moss-cushioned rock and stolen away unseen, except for the 
traitorous glisten of pebbles, to the stream below. But the dip-hole 
enforced publicity; and when Hedge arrived there it was doing strange 
duty without a sign of discontent or ruffle of surface. 

Around its edges were cooling ruptured stems of white-rayed blood- 
root, pink-haloed, green-eyed anemones, beauty-clustered arbutus, fili- 
greed SolomonVseal, and hollow-stalked dandelions (shaming bashful 
kalmias by golden offerings), all making frame for a reflected face they 
should have been content to stay forever with. 

The ringing promise of Hedge Harner to wipe his weeping eyes” 
when he got good title for his sky-mansion had not disturbed Berry 
Lovett, as she sat on the ground by the spring-side, beyond a crowding 
of the rich color in her cheeks, a glance of pleasure up the path in search 
of first sight, a little tilt of her head for better hearing of his voice, 
and a quick calling in of marvellously well shaped ankles to where a 
modest tuck secured them. 

There is little poetry for poetry^s sake in a West Virginia mountain 
girl ; yet for those who seek it unsullied from Nature’s womb, she has 
most bountiful supply in lines of form, in swing of limb and pose of 
figure, in speaking gesture, in mesh of hair and trick of back-comb, in 
tuck of skirt and unpinned bodice, in rounded knees and soft elbow- 
creases, in velvety throat and voluptuous arms, in voice as flexible as 
a ’cello’s tones and purring as a kitten’s, in eyes that search forever or 
trust forever or snap to cut the present mighty short. 

As Berry Lovett leaned over the water of the dip-hole, with the 
flowers she had placed there to freshen framing her loveliness, she had 
no idea that the picture was worthy of a master’s brush ; or, when she 
bowed over her lapful of wild gatherings, to fuss and sort with dimpled 
fingers, or snip superfluous leaves from scraggy twigs capped with 
waxy dogwood blossoms, she had no suspicion that even a laureate’s eye 
would see aught but her ankles. Even that is stretching fancy too far ; 
for she, in her mountain ignorance, had not a notion of what a laureate 
was, nor would she have thought one Hedge Hamer’s equal if she had 
known, or half so cute at seein’ things.” 

The combination of color she was making in her hand-bunch of 
flowers was harmonious as a crazy-quilt and solid as a mosaic. Poetry ? 
Why, Berry Lovett’s whole idea of it was in the only rhyme she knew 
outside of hymn memory : 

Come, Philanders, let us be a-marchin’. 

Every one her true love a-sarchin’ ; 

Sarch your true love now or never. 

Or yander sun’ll set forever ; 


16 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


and the prophesied phenomenon of that had never alarmed her one iota. 
Beautiful she was, with less than twenty summers to age her freshness ; 
and winning she was, in that slow loveliness which gives one time to 
be enfolded. The lingering of the spring, the quiet sway about her 
of the creepers growing from the rocks, the very worshipping gaze of 
the bold-eyed frog perched on the flood-stone of the dip-hole, testified 
to it. 

Hedge was caught by the spell as he turned a sharp elbow in the 
steep path and looked down upon her from the top of rocky steps ter- 
racing it to the spring. He had changed his doleful tune to I^m de 
blackest niggah eber shined a boot,^^ and was doing the pantomime of 
it with an imaginary boot on one arm and an invisible brush doing 
speculative polish in the free hand, when he got the first glimpse of 
Berry. Geewuts,^^ he exclaimed, under his breath, hain^t she purty ? 
She’s ez purty ez a posy-bed! She wuz the best uv ’em all to me. 
Nobody shall worrit her none, nohow, no time. Whoop-ee, Berry! 
Who air you bundlin’ posies fer?” 

His clear Whoop-ee” made the echoes of Big Head Fork cheery 
with its fulness. Berry looked up, and broke them into merry laughs. 

Why, Hedge,” she said, gayly, “you’re peert ez the cat-bird I heerd 
awhile ago callin’ fer his mate. How-dee? I’ve been gatherin’ posies 
fer granny. She won’t pick none herself. She jist stays home keerin’ 
fer us an’ everybody, an’ nothin’ fer herself. I’m goin’ to give ’em 
to her.” 

Hedge sat himself down upon the lowest step, where nothing but 
the water of the dip-hole separated him from Berry, yet kindly in its 
purity laid their shadows close. Hedge saw it, and it tickled his light 
fancy. Watching his shadow, he tried to manoeuvre it, by bob and 
bump and slow approach, until he had his curly head mirrored close to 
the sheeny folds of Berry’s yellow hair. “ Look, Berry, we’re sparkin’ 
in the dip-hole.” And then he laughed as she turned to gaze upon his 
strategy. 

The girl colored with pleasure at the sight, and moved her head 
coquettishly to bring the shadows closer. 

“ Geewuts, they’re touchin’ ! Let’s see how a kiss would go in the 
spring. I never tried one under water afore.” 

Berry jerked her shadow away with a pout upon her rosy lips which 
plainly told of a warmer place to put it. 

“ Hedge, you’re the foolin’est man I ever knowed. Who but you’d 
ever git sich a fool notion ez kissin’ under water? It ud spile the 
spring. Hedge.” 

“ An’ the kiss too. Berry. I’ll jist take the one that come all-fired 
near gittin’ drownded.” 

The bound across the dip-hole was so quick, the bending backward 
of her neck against a supporting arm, held well in place to save its snap- 
ping, the catching of her lips in pout before they had time to harden 
against attack, were so sudden, that Hedge met nothing more formidable 
than a jab of flowers, tightly-closed eyes, and the involuntary kick of 
a tucked-away foot, to combat his philanthropic purposes. 

It was well for Hedge Harner that he sprang back to his rocky seat 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS, 


17 


as quickly as he left it, and sat sheltered behind a stub of rock that 
made rugged baluster to the step-way. For across the narrow ravine 
which bedded Big Head Fork, and level with the spring, the glistening 
barrel of a rifle covered his every movement, and only waited his getting 
out of range with Berry to shoot its bullet unerringly to his heart. His 
movement was too sudden and unexpected for aim to follow or pull of 
trigger. 

While Berry fingered her tossed curls, tucked away her routed foot, 
preened her rumpled dress, colored with maiden surprise, and scolded 
with amiable volubility. Hedge, in total ignorance of his danger, was 
lolling upon the steps^ looking at her with contentment, not unmixed 
with self-laudation for easy escape with a captured kiss, and admiration 
of Berry’s sweet discomfiture. 

Hedge,” said Berry, with suspicious severity, I’ll never speak to 
you if you kiss me that-a-way ag’in.” 

How do you want it done next time. Berry ? I hain’t much uv 
a hand at it, but I thought I done it good. Tell me how you like it 
done, an’ I’ll try to please you best I kin,” replied Hedge, with good- 
humored impertinence. ‘^Haiii’t that the way Corner does it?” 

I didn’t mean — He never — Corner never kissed me sence I wuz 
leetle,” Berry stammered, and then burst out indignantly at the insinua- 
tion. I think you mightn’t hev said that, Hedge. You never said 
sich a thing afore. I wouldn’t hev left no feller do that without gittin’ 
mad but — but you, an’ tollin’ him to take his hat. Corner hez pestered 
the life out uv me, an’ he’s gittin’ wuss every day. Ef he wuzn’t a poor 
cripple, I’d hate him. I do anyway, but it’s a sin to say it. I thought 
you wuz my fr’en’, — like we growed up together, — an’ I didn’t think — 
I never thought you’d kiss me an’ say sich a thing. I’m jist left to 
take keer of myself. Nobody keers fer me no more, ’cept granny, — an’ 
Corner, that I don’t want to.” 

Tears were strangers to Berry’s blue eyes, but they came bravely, 
well introduced by flutter of surprise, fostered indignation, sense of dis- 
appointment, and feminine instinct that they were the very best friends 
in the world to her at that particular time. She relieved the hem of 
her calico dress from foot-guarding duty, to wipe her weeping eyes with 
an earnestness Hedge had never thought of as he sang his promise to 
do likewise. 

If Hedge Hamer’s heart had been pinned to his sleeve, it would not 
have been visible to the dress-covered eyes of Berry ; if it had, its work- 
ings would have been much more mysterious to her than the palpable 
knowledge of its beatings, as Hedge leaped the spring and stole his arms 
about her neck to press her close to where it thumped in kind compas- 
sion. 

Again the rifle-barrel lay levelled at him. Its muzzle quivered, now 
sought steadiness, now moved about in restless seeking, and, as though 
it would charm its distant prey by deadly fascination, glared with a 
single eye that flashed death only. Behind it was a face half hidden 
by soft leaf-clusters, white and hard and glittering as the quartz boulders 
that studded the mountain-side. The eye that looked along the barrel 
was fixed and shining as a serpent’s ; the hand that clutched it was set 

Yol. luV.^2 


18 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


in a grip blued with outstanding veins ; the long finger upon the trigger 
was hooked with the deadliness of a fang fixed to discharge its venom ; 
the crouching body to which they belonged was shaken in every fibre, 
like a sail filled with a veering storm. But the eye did its bidding, 
and the finger did its work. A tongue of flame darted from the rifle’s 
mouth ; the echoes gave it rattling welcome. 

A wild shriek rang out, that added terror to the flight of nesting 
birds, and lingered with crag and pass to bar their flying-ways. Before 
the last sound died, a dread-stricken form was fleeing through the 
bushes, scaling rocks, clambering logs, leaping gullies, pursued by the 
demon of conscience and the horror of a mistake. Corner Lovett was 
a murderer at heart, the death-shriek of the one he loved stirring 
madness in his brain, — -jealousy, hatred, remorse wrestling with grief, 
with fear as clammy coadjutor. On he went, briers scoring their anger 
upon him at sudden dash or rapid thrust, snags tearing him in blind 
encounter, rocks, with bruise and cut, resenting frantic assault or reck- 
less leap, the very vines in knotted league against him. Startled 
squirrels barked their wrath, crows cawed and flew in watchful circles 
where he sped, hovering buzzards ceased their kite-like swing above him 
and flapped their wings for higher safety. He cursed them for follow- 
ing his track, and cursed them again that they fled to mark his way. 

The divide was crossed. He welcomed the roar of Big Head Fork 
as it dashed between the Fighting Rocks, announcing the goal of his 
terrible race. He stopped, trembled, closed his ears with clutching 
hands, as the scream of an eagle rang piercingly above in mockery of 
the death-cry ringing in them. Like one groping in the dark away from 
some haunting evil, he felt his way down among the battling rocks, 
until, by a vine-hidden crevice, he reached the water’s edge. There a 
lark swirl warred unceasingly with some mighty boulders, and piled 
its foam on rocky shelf and offshoot in testimony of its wrath. As he 
stood upon its brink, an angry shout startled him. High up on the 
trail, across the stream and above him, on the frowning rock-face, stood 
Hedge Harner, torn, bloody, blown, yelling fiercely at him, Stop, you 
killer ! I hev you !” 

Again Corner Lovett’s face grew hard and glittering as the spray- 
dashed rocks beside him ; again the eye that was fixed and shining over 
the levelled rifle shot forth its murderous light, as white-faced rage bred 
answering laugh and shout of hellish defiance : Come on ; she’s past 
your gittin’ her !” 

With reckless impetuosity. Hedge Harner threw himself over the 
edge of the trail, and swung from sapling to shrub, from crack to ledge, 
from crumbling rock-hold to grasp of bared root, down the precipitous 
rock-way, to gain the level of the stream. 

With devilish coolness, the trapped fiend planted the butt of his 
rifle on the ground, swung his stoppered powder-horn and bullet-laden 
pouch where his ])ractised hand commanded them, and charged the 
empty weapon with powder, patch, and ball. With ramrod held be- 
tween his teeth for rapid use if one ball failed, with fingers mechan- 
ically searching the nipple to adjust the cap, he looked up from his work 
to mark the whereabouts of his pursuer. He was too late. He saw 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


19 


Hedge Hariier springing upon him from a low boulder, his hands 
spread like the claws of a ferocious beast, his brown eyes bloodshot 
and glaring their deadly purpose, his face set with a hardness that 
would relax only with the death of one of them. 

The cap slipped from Corner’s fingers. He clubbed his rifle, but 
Hedge was upon him. Its blow overreached its mark ; the gun flew 
from his hands and shattered itself against a rock. He felt himself 
in the grip of a Hercules, and staggering, rolling, falling, sinking deep 
under the water of the swirl. Instantly the hold relaxed. He felt 
himself free and rising to the surface. There he gave a gasp for 
breath, shook the water from his face, threw a quick glance about him 
as the current carried him around the boulder’s foot: another gasp, 
another look, and he disappeared again in the seething pool. 

It was well for Hedge Harner that down in the water’s solid 
depths he knew he must at once have air, and must loosen his clutch 
to gain its needed help. Blown, excited, his breast going with rapid 
heaves, his heart thumping from the death-struggle as he fell in the 
water, he knew his hold was useless. It was well for him that a 
friendly ledge caught him at the shallow outlet as he rose and the force 
of rushing waters crowded him to the surface ; for he had seen the 
first starry flashes of death, and felt the peace of parting consciousness. 
It was well that Corner Lovett had not seen him lying helpless where 
the water’s kindly push was urging him to its top; for his rage-crooked 
fingers would have tightened the clutch that death already had upon 
his throat, to hold it firm until his last heart-beat announced surrender. 
Life had but started from its seat in Hedge. The first convulsive 
gulp of air admonished it of active duties, and commanded it to its 
own protection. One less brave than Hedge Harner would have 
thought of his burning lungs and stinging throat, smarting eyes and 
rasped nostrils; but in him one pain dwarfed all others, — the pain of 
passion. 

Before he could muster strength to unlock his cramped muscles, 
while stretched in rigidity upon the rock, he turned angry scrutiny 
along the pool, hoping to catch sight of his mortal foe. As he crawled, 
tottered, rose to his feet, his protruding eyes glared about him like 
those of one dead searching for a sign of life. As motion came to 
answer growing thought, he scanned the rocks, and pierced the very 
depths of the swirl with looks bent to solve their holdings. He shook 
his tightened fists and gurgled his boiling rage at them : ‘^You’ve got 
him, damn you.” Then, as calmer thoughts gained mastery and 
caution took control, he entered the pool again, and swimming sought 
each rock for loosened moss, or flood of drip, or other sign that marked 
escape; but nowhere was there tell-tale of a flight. 

The water and search had somewhat cooled Hedge now. ^^He is 
dead,” he said, aloud. Drownded. Hit’s a blessed riddance. Hit 
saves me killin’ him er a mob bangin’ him. The coward! — woman- 

killer ! Ef I hed him, livin’ or dead, I’d ’Tain’t no use. Poor 

Berry I” 

The name gave him new and softened impulse. I must git back 
to her, poor girl. I left her lyin’ there dyin’, lookin’ at me, an’ holdin’ 


20 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


my han’, — boldin’ on to me, an’ tryin’ to kiss me back ag’in, like I 
wuz kissin’ her, — kissin’ me good-by, ez she went dead. Oh, Berry ! 
my leetle girl tliet use’ to play boss with me, an’ go fishin’ ’long with 
me, an’ go to sleep on my lap when you wuz tired. Oh, Berry ! my 
leetle sweetheart! An’ she tried to kiss me back ag’in, good-by, — 
an’ her dyin’. Hit’s all my fault; I wuz on’y foolin’. I kinder 
thought she wuz leetle yit. I didn’t mean nothin’.” 

Hedge threw his arms about in wild grief, and swayed as one fall- 
ing from a blow. He beat his forehead against the hard rock, as if to 
drive away distracting visions; or folded his arms tenderly as about a 
loved image, when tender words and memory’s sweetest overflow in 
tears changed the scene from one of agony. He clinched his hands 
and cursed himself when he spoke of his thoughtlessness, but a 
pleasurable tone, full of trembling pathos, blended with the outburst 
of sorrow when he said, An’ she tried to kiss me back ag’in, — like I 
wuz kissin’ her.” 

With tears washing the bloody brier-cuts on his face, the water 
from his drenched garments dripping little pools at his feet, hatless, 
tattered, bruised and torn. Hedge Harner stood looking into the swirl. 
Hit’s strange he don’t come up,” he muttered. He couldn’t hev 
floated out uv yere without lodgin’ ; an’ the dry on the rocks shows he 
couldn’t hev run while I wuz nigh drownded. Maybe he’s gone 
straight to hell, whar he ought to go,” he added, fiercely. ‘^Ef I 
chance to git thar. I’ll make it hotter fer him, — ef the fire holds out. 
Yere’s his gun. How did he get yere, I wonder? I trailed him over 
the divide, an’ seed he wuz makin’ fer Fightin’ Rocks, an’ I crossed 
Big Head to head him off. How he got down yere I can’t calkilate 
noway. I’ll trail him back’ards, an’ find out. I must git home to 
granny an’ Berry. Poor Berry !” 

Gathering up the fragments of the rifle, he again made searching 
inquiry of the pool and its rocky environments. A vine freshly torn 
from slender wall-hold, and the scratch of shoe-nails on a sandy rock, 
marked the entrance to the narrow crevice through which Corner Lovett 
had descended. Surprised at its presence, — for Hedge Harner thought 
he knew every crannied secret of the mountains thereabouts, — fearing 
that his prey might have escaped that way, his instinctive wood-craft 
sent him to his knees to solve the meaning of the faintest sign. The 
infallible record of dryness assured him that no wet foot had trodden 
there; enough of that. But where did the well-worn pathway lead? 
Hedge rose, parted the overhanging vines, and entered resolutely upon 
it. He slowly followed the dumb leading of worn stones, polished 
projections, abraded roots, torn mosses, bended saplings, snapped twigs, 
nail-furrowed slides, — all pointing certainty of direction and fixing 
unerringly the secret way to the summit of Fighting Rocks, where it 
joined the break but newly made through the forest undergrowth, 
whence Corner Lovett began his mad rush. Once upon this, Hedge 
followed its direct course back to the fatal spot where, not an hour 
before, the whizzing ball had sped, far less regardless of himself than 
the frantic man who tore its way. 

Across the ravine, the white face of Berry stood out from the dark 

f 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS, 


21 


rock against which he rested her before his flight, like one of marble 
from frame of sombre hangings. Her eyes were closed, her lips were 
parted ; something glistened upon them like rain-drops in the sun. 
He paused an instant to look. His heart gave a joyous leap from the 
sullenness of despair, as he saw her arm move wanderingly toward the 
spring beside her, her hand drop to its water, and the few clinging 
drops raised with halting weakness to her mouth. If then and there 
Hedge Harner had seen her take winged flight to the cloud-land above 
her, the sight could not more steadfastly have fixed his gladdened eyes, 
or rapture set his face in happier colors. As the wave of joy receded, 
stout purpose came with its ebb. He dashed across the ravine, shout- 
ing, Ihn cornin’. Berry. I’m cornin’.” 

While he splashed through the creek, and climbed the shrub-grown 
bank, slipping, stumbling in his eager haste, he thought she might not 
know his cry, and, startled, loose her hold on life. He changed his 
voice, and filled the air with tones as loving as a bird’s call to its mate. 

I’m cornin’. Berry; your Hedge is coinin’, — your leetle Hedge is 
cornin’.” 

When the distance of a few rods was passed, he durst not touch 
her. He looked piteously into her death-clad face, and, leaning in 
oppressive fear, whispered, Berry, it’s me, — Hedge. I’m yere, — 
Hedge.” There was an outward movement of her lips ; her wet hand, 
cold and white as the cloud image in the spring, moved toward him. 
Trifling as the motions were, they broke the spell on Hedge. She’s 
tryin’ to kiss me back ag’in,” he thought. 

Tenderly, tearfully, witli a great sob, he laid his face against her 
own ; after a little while he kissed her. It brought from her a deep- 
drawn breath, and with that breath new life was born. Her eyes 
opened and turned upon him as living lights, which not a restraining 
film obscured. Her hand contracted in his with a pressure that might 
have been but a muscle’s twitch, but it was strong with love as the 
wedding-clasp for all eternity. 

Hedge was one to act when action was thrust upon him. He felt 
the burning of her life. He knew he must quickly fan the flame, or 
it would go out. He had seen her struggling for water. Scooping a 
handful, he held it to her lips, and watched her slowly swallow it. 
Then, as she tried to smile, he gathered her carefully in his arms, and 
carried her swiftly to Granny Lovett’s cabin. 

Granny Lovett had dotted her kitchen with signs of pleasure at 
Hedge’s prolonged stay with Berry, and was herself redundant with 
happy speculation about it. The table-cloth was folded to a size re- 
quiring neighborly placing of plates, — two of them, — staring their for- 
getfulness that Berry had had her dinner. The chairs were ‘^set up” 
as close together as divergence of legs would permit, and the coffee 
outfit was cunningly arranged so that hands must get conveniently 
close in the pouring out. Her face grew shiny from the imagined 
heartiness of her congratulatory slap upon Hedge’s back, as she shat- 
tered the brown crust of an airy loaf by a sounding thwack. Every 
trace of wrinkle was smoothed out of the white table-cloth by loving 
strokes that she felt herself laying upon Berry’s plump shoulders or 


22 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


pretty head. Significant smiles were involuntarily practised, knowing 
speeches were internally rehearsed, while every bit of bright tin-ware 
in the cabin reflected her smiles in distorted ruddiness. 

The chief end of Granny Lovett’s universal motherhood was, 
marrying her charges as she wished and planned ; therein her greatest 
reward lay; and she had been contentedly successful. Berry and 
Hedge were her pets ; being the last, they had the tapering end of her 
affections, but it was the keenest end and brightest. She longed to 
see them mated and nesting. She knew that all Hedge Harner needed 
to make an industrious man of him was to give him some one to work 
for beside himself ; the manhood was in him, what he needed was 
womanhood to push it into fruitful visibility. She knew that Berry 
was the one to do it with loving hand, and then to continue it with her 
loving coaxings. 

Chuckling to herself, she gave a last look at her tempting table- 
trap to catch a couple, and again repeated, but this time in triumphant 
certainty, My oxen and my fatlin’s air killed, come unto the weddin’, 
an’ I’ll give Berry a live cow, an’ all the cabin tricks I kin spare, an’ 
make Hedge a weddin’-suit uv clothes ; ez the Scripter says.” 

She heard Hedge shouting, and thought of slyly hiding herself 
where she could have fulfilment of her joy in the eye-comfort of their 
unrestrained love-making. She chuckled again as she changed her 
mind : Hit’s more fun to look innercent an’ unbeknowin’, an’ watch ’em 
slyin’ an’ lookin’ sheepish.” So, settling her face to the impassiveness 
of a gourd, she listened to the coming footsteps. 

What a topple and crash of her castle from its airy height, when 
Hedge entered the cabin door ! All her life Granny Lovett had been 
a stop against emergencies, a solid rip-rap against the dammed flood 
of untoward events, but Hedge’s appearance with bloody face and life- 
less armload was like a torrent sweeping all before it. Reposing his 
burden upon the bed. Hedge turned to her in breathless appeal, before 
her stunned senses could gather themselves to give life to thought. 

Ther’s life in her yit, granny. She’s been lookin’ at me. She’s 
alive. Quick, granny, water! She’s been lookin’ at me jist now. 
Fer God’s sake fetch her round ! Corner sliot her. Keep her livin’,” 
jerked out Hedge. His words came fast, with clogging sobs and 
choking heart-beats for gripping punctuation. 

The hot blast of Corner’s name and murderous deed flashed Granny’s 
numbed faculties into instant blaze. ‘‘ The varmint !” She gasped the 
words in her throat, like a crackling flame in a narrow flue. ‘^The 
hump-backed varmint! The come-across-the-field [bastard] varmint! 
Did you kill him. Hedge? Is them cuts in your face of his make? 
The’re pizen ef they air. The sarpint ! I’ll smash his head with my 
heel, ez the good Book says. Did you kill him. Hedge ? Did you 
send him to hell’s fire without a chance fer — fer to say a word? He 
kin yell fer a drop uv water, an’ I won’t give him none ; ner let any 
one, ef I hev a say. Shot my Berry ! My purty, poor Berry ! What 
am I doin’? Cussin’ him, the varmint? — wastin’ time. Leave me to 
her. Hedge. Berry ; honey ; Berry. Hit’s granny, honey, granny. 
Look at your dear ole granny, honey.” 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS, 


23 


The blue eyes opened like a dreamy child^s to the lull of a mother^s 
voice or sweetened look, and then closed upon the love-light in peace. 

Thank the good Lord, she’s livin’; an’ she knows me, Hedge. 
She knows her granny. I’ll fetch her roun’, ef the good Lord’s willin’. 
I feel His power in my right hand — ef I hed a pair uv scissors to cut 
her clothes off without movin’ her. Never mind where they are ; I’ll 
unloosen ’em. Where’s she hit?” 

^‘I don’t know. I seed no blood. I — I hedn’t time to sarch.” 

Thet’s the first thing to do : sarch ’em arly, an’ ye shall find ’em. 
Thet’s the first thing. Now I’ll fetch her roun’.” 

Granny was herself again. The certainty of her words, with the 
fortifying interjection of Scripture, showed that. 

The close calico ruff that circled Berry’s neck like the calix of a 
fair flower was loosened by Granny’s deft fingers. The spotless rich- 
ness of skin and curve lay creamy and soft, as pin and button were 
plucked from trusty hold. Only a blue cord of twisted worsted, hold- 
ing a polished stone, remained in sturdy keeping of her throat. From 
the centre of the amulet sheening spalls and radiating cracks bore 
witness to a sudden blow, like the first stroke of a drill upon quartz. 
Granny lifted it tenderly, and there beneath it, just where the windpipe 
sinks into the bone-bound thorax for better covering than the soft and 
fluttering skin betraying its slightest workings, was a dark bruise the 
size of its crystal covering. 

‘‘ Lan’ sakes! The Lord be thanked!” she exclaimed, joyously. 
Thar it is, — thar’s the hit ! The thingumy notched it. Look, Hedge 1 
the thingumy’s notched the bullet an’ left the bruise go on. She’ll 
come roun’. Blessed be the good Lord ! She’ll come roun’. Death 
loves a shinin’ mark, but he got notched this time. Whar is your 
sting, O Death? Thar’s no grave yere for your victory! Whar did 
she get the thingumy. Hedge?” 

Trembling after the tempest of his passions and forces, quivering 
with the tension of anxiety and tumult of emotions, starting with 
wondering surprise at the fractured stone and its saving wound, stirred 
still deeper by the knowledge that flashed upon him at seeing the 
treasured charm, his face colored with sudden blood-pour as he answered, 
I give it to her, granny, more’n a year back. Hit’s an ole Injin 
thingumy I found at Fightin’ Rock P’int, an’ give her. I didn’t know 
she’d kep’ it. Do you think she’ll come roun’? Do — air you sartin 
she’ll come roun’ ?” 

Sartin as the Lord is mighty an’ must prevail ag’in’ a crack on 
her windpipe thet’s put her past speakin’, an’ sickened her, an’ nigh 
skeered her to death’s door; ez the good Book says. That leetle Injin 
trick you give her hez saved her life, Hedge. Hit’s one uv them ole 
Injin love-charms I’ve heerd of. Cheer up. Berry; cheer up, honey 
dear ; you’ll come roun’, an’ you’ll be Hedge’s wife, an’ leetle sweet- 
heart, like you alius wuz, furder back. Cheer up an’ come roun’. Be 
thou faithful unto death, an’ I will give you life, an’ a cow, an’ two 
pigs, an’ three quilts, — the new uns, jist batted, — an’ a comfort, an’ a 
churn, an’ a — an’ a cradle, an’ a hull lot uv things fer your cabin. I’ll 
give you all I got, an’ I’ll come live with you ; ez the good Book says. 


24 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


Lan^ sakes ! what am I thinkin’ about? I’ll give you the cabin, an^ 
clearin’, an’ all thet’s in it, an’ I’ll stay right yere an’ live with you, 
an’ no breakin’ up an’ scratchin’ things movin’, if you’ll only come 
roun’. She’s colorin’, Hedge, she’s colorin’ ! Fetch the salamony 
off the chimley-board. Quick ! What air you standin’ thar blub- 
berin’ ’bout? Don’t you see we’re fetchin’ her roun’?” 

The hum of quiet voices sounded up the pathway coming from the 
ravine to the cabin, — the half-awed hum that settles over Sunday 
throngs, that comes and goes with Sunday clothes. Now and then the 
shout of a child rang out in accustomed glee, in spite of comb and 
dress and shoe restraint, before reproving look or capturing jerk could 
stop its heaven -born sacrilege, or a loud guffaw from mouth more 
used to laugh than prayer would rouse sinful titters and weekday 
echoes. The folks were coming home from meeting. It was Granny 
Lovett’s flock of children, waifs and strays, gathering to the home 
fold, with their hale wives or brawny husbands, and many rosy-cheeked 
patterns of their fair get. As the sounds came nearer. Hedge Harner 
grew uneasy. They’d best not come in, granny, too many uv ’em. 
Hit’ll maybe give Berry a set-back.” 

Thet’s right. Hedge. In a crowd uv counsel ther’s wisdom, ef 
it hain’t over a sick-bed ; ez the good Book says. Send a couple uv 
the women here thet don’t go to carryin’ on an’ bellerin’ when you tell 
’em ’bout it. Keep the men out; they’re too bumpersome. Take the 
men an’ git that killin’ varmint; but don’t fetch him here. Hedge; 
don’t fetch his carcass here. I’ll hev no sight uv him, ner no buryin’ 
uv him from my cabin. Bury him whar he’s layin’, fer decent sake ; 
but bury him light, so’s the dogs kin scratch at him. Stamp the grave 
flat, an’ kiver it with skunk-cabbage. The varmint! shootin’ my Berry 1” 

The very sound of Berry’s name softened Granny’s anger. The 
sea of her wrath was quickly calmed by the oil of her sympathy. She 
crooned quietly to herself, ‘‘ Poor Corner! I nussed him, an’ tended 
his leetle back fer him, an’ now he’s dead. He was a cutersome baby, 
for all.” 

One look at Hedge was enough to stop the coming party and gather 
it into a questioning group about him. Ashe told his story, the wild- 
est grief and deepest curses sounded to the ravine’s slopes. Women 
paled, and men drove the glow of health to knotted blotches by hard- 
set knit of face-muscles. Children looked with big-eyed wonder, or 
whimpered with heads hidden in their mothers’ dresses, from dread 
of blood and death. 

“ Let’s go find his carcass and hang it up fer the buzzards,” shouted 
Mose Hayes. Them thet would shoot a woman hez no right to 
Christian buryin’, nohow.” 

Leave him stay in the Devil’s Pot, where he drownded ; hit’s a 
black enough hole fer him, an’ he kin never git out,” growled Sing 
Myers, savagely, his set teeth surprising his good-natured face into 
fierceness. 

Let’s find him, an’, if he hain’t dead, make sure of it. Hit’s the 
law fer them thet hain’t time to go lawin’ about it ; an’ it’s justice. 
Come along. Hedge,” said another, with ferocity. 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS, 


25 


No/^ answered Hedge, absently ; I’ll not go. You fellers kin 
go ; I’ve bed my sheer uv it. Granny’ll need me. Don’t make a 
fuss about the cabin, fer Berry’s low, — Berry’s low.” 

The women sat down on the path-side and wept. The men started 
off on the trail for Fighting Kocks, with heavy steps and knit brows, 
and hearts beating oppressively from dreaded purpose. A plough-line 
was raided from the stable, and a cow-rope from a stall, to do avenging 
work, even though the object of it was a corpse. Pick and spade were 
taken along, in case the reversal of hanging should suit the crowd’s 
erratic will ; for the work of mobs, like the play of children, is full 
of glaring contradictions. 

No minnow ever probed the hiding-places of Big Head Fork, or 
pike bestirred the depths of its deepest pockets, with closer scrutiny 
than the searching men bent on the finding of Corner Lovett. Its 
rocks and holes and shallow edgings gave no sign of his whereabouts. 
The Devil’s Pot — as the swirl was aptly called by mountain nomen- 
clators — was searched from rocky rim to its deepest fathomings, but 
not a touch of aught softer than its moss and slime gave sense of 
human presence. Various were the surmises, and opposite the opinions, 
of the seekers. Marks of the deadly struggle were there, — the trodden 
sand, the torn-mossed rocks, the ruffled ledge where Hedge lay, the 
spattered drips from his clothing, the rifle’s ramrod, the secret trail, 
all bearing testimony to the truth of what he told ; but there was no 
more mark of the murderer’s presence or escape than the bass leaves in 
swimming or the bird in its flight. 

The party scattered on the mountain to see if possible trace could 
be found ; but when night darkened the forests, and phantom shadows 
chased the men from tree-trunk and copse to refuge at Granny Lovett’s 
cabin, they had nothing to tell of, — not even the fear of their own 
imaginings. That Corner Lovett was drowned, they were certain ; 
but where his body could be, in either the depths or harbors of Big 
Head, was a question unsolvable, save in the medium of conjecture. 

The sturdy wills and sturdier forms of girls bred to the mountain- 
sides are not good feeding-grounds for either disease or accident. From 
the time Granny Lovett had thrilled Berry’s scattered pulses into 
rhythm by the healing prophecy, You’ll be Hedge’s wife, an’ leetle 
sweetheart, like you alius wuz furder back,” and the life-currents had 
spread themselves stealthily over the forsaken playground of her cheeks 
(with proper due to the mettlesome vapor of a salarnony bottle” held 
unswervingly under her nose, as heroic remedy). Berry had been gain- 
ing mastery of the shock, and now sat with a poultice of life ever- 
lastin’ ” bound to her fair throat, and her blue eyes glistening dreamily 
in the flicker of the open fire. 

But she could not speak. Her merry laugh and cooing voice were 
silenced for many a day. The bullet that spent itself upon the oval 
stone had simply spread its force to bruise the tender trachea and 
paralyze the vocal cords. The grasp of a strangling hand could not 
have done its work with such rapidity, or left her at the time so near 
to death from shock and suffocation. 

The shadow of the passing hand had thrown its chill upon all who 


26 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


were there in Granny Lovett^s cabin. The spirit of the drowned man 
seemed dampening them with its dripping vestments ; even the living 
girl was but a rescue from the grave. Hedge Harner broke the gloom 
of whispers by rising and saying cheerily, “ Well, folks, I must be off. 
Berry^ll come round all right ; ^cept she’s got to keep quiet, ’cause she 
can’t help it. But she’ll make up fer it when she gits to talkin’. I’d 
like to hear her talk go when it gits loose. I must go take keer uv 
my property. I’ve settled at Fightin’ P’int, an’ hev my board an’ 
washin’ there, an’ supper to git in the bargain. I’ll be over in the 
mornin’, granny. Good-night, Berry. Good-night, you-uns. You 
look skeered an’ huddled, like dogged sheep in a corner.” 

Berry looked at him pleadingly, and motioned him to stay. Granny 
Lovett said indignantly, as if his going was a reproach to her hospi- 
tality, ‘‘ You shan’t go, Hedge. You hev got to stay yere. I reckon 
I kin git your supper.” 

‘‘ Shan’t I ?” repeated Hedge, laughingly, as he darted out of the 
door and into the blackness, cutting short the argument by escape. 


CHAPTEE II. 

It was far from Hedge Hamer’s intention either to get his own 
supper or to give the protection of his presence to the high-hung piece 
of bacon at Fighting Point. Love was cumulative in Hedge. He was 
a sort of reservoir that held all such welling up in him, come from what 
source it might. One fountain was gushing when he started for Granny 
Lovett’s at mid-day; but seeing Berry in extremity, giving, as he 
thought, her last kiss and heart-beat to him, saved by a badge of her 
constancy, telling her devotion with soul-filled eyes, and netting her 
truant pleasure with capturing blushes, had started another fountain, 
which was pouring in at rapid rate, to blend with it by intangible 
affinity. The float first touching high-love mark in Hedge’s thoughts 
was the airy scheme of the morning, of coaxing Peggy Byrne to his 
home with corn uv his own tendin’ and the one close after it was 
tender remembrance of the last kiss he gave Berry Lovett at the spring. 
Therefore, by the natural drift of love from the sure channel of success 
to the opposing one of uncertainty. Hedge was started and steered in 
the direction of Peggy’s abode. 

As he sped over the mountain to Poplar Bench, full of love, 
news, and importance, he was paying out a cable that had its anchor 
by the fireside in Granny Lovett’s cabin; and Berry was the nymph 
he visioned watching over its holding. 

The night was dark or starlight as April’s shower-clouds willed it. 
The fire-glow through Abner Byrne’s cabin door grew faint or ruddy 
as the changing background made its contrast felt. About the dim 
outlines of the chimney-top a few eccentric sparks capered as if on the 
verge of lunacy, and the cabin roof was as an inky ruling upon the 
darkness. Dogs barked, and a flock of roosting guineas sprung rattling 
alarm at the sound of steps intruding upon their slumbers. A figure 
of medium height and easy balance moved into the door- way, where, 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


27 


as it stood with one arm outstretched to the resting jamb, it bore strong 
semblance to a human barrier swung by a single hinge. But the fire- 
glow was playing tricks behind the figure’s back, now lighting a high- 
perched roll of hair or flashing a curve of neck or limb, or straying 
about its flitting drapery to show that the well-outlined obstruction was 
not flat, but round, and solid through and through. If Peggy Byrne 
(for she it was) had turned her face to catch the fire at its pranks, the 
glow would have caught her fairly with rosy cheeks and dancing eyes 
and pleasure showing everywhere. For she, too, had heard the coming 
step, but wisely gave no tongue; because rows of peeping eyes were 
lidded tightly in the trundle-beds, and her father snored in his rocking- 
chair, against all waking inconvenience. 

Be quiet. Spank,” she whispered to the dog. She would have 
wrung each guinea’s neck with right good will, if they had not ceased 
their clatter. 

It was but a step to the rickety gate that barred the pathway to the 
mountain-side; yet Peggy played with time in getting there, and 
counted several stars with well-put on indifference. Why, is that 
you. Hedge?” she asked, with seeming innocence. ‘^I heerd the 
guineas squawkin’, an’ thought maybe ther’ wuz an owl about.” 

^^I come a-flyin’. Like’s not it wuz me they heerd,” replied 
Hedge, laughing. Let’s see how it would feel. Peg, ef I wuz an owl 
an’ grabbed holt uv you.” 

He fitted his actions to his words, and easily could have carried off 
his prey, without objecting scratch or ruffle, had not he been minded 
to stay where he was and as he was, himself in sweet captivity. 
Yielding as Peggy was to first attack, she soon regained her liberty. 
She knew Hedge Harner well enough to know that the surest way to 
entangle him was to loosen his every hold : so she said, with a little 
start and laugh, I hain’t no guinea, to be clawed an’ mussed. I’ll 
shut the gate on you, ef you don’t behave.” 

There you go, gittin’ uppish ’bout nothin’, Peggy. I wuzn’t 
goin’ to muss you ner nothin’. I don’t b’lieve the biggest an’ savagest 
owl on arth that ever lived ’ud hurt you,” Hedge retorted, with loving 
assurance, hoping to gain permission for another trial. 

Peggy Byrne was the only being before whom Hedge Harner ever 
checked an impulse. Like a dog looking at a forbidden morsel, he 
had the wish and appetite, but kept in mind the shackling look and 
tongue. She was an expert in the torturing science of Flirtology, well 
knowing when to cut and saw with airy implements and when to touch 
gently with alluring words, even though her school was in the mountain 
wilds and her subjects few as the settlers. Hedge pocketed his hands 
contentedly, when she sweetly asked, ‘‘ Why didn’t you come arlier. 
Hedge? I waited supper fer you fer a while. Where hev you been 
all day?” 

It was Hedge’s turn now. With the skilful cunning that could 
outwit the fox, or capture the wary pheasant, or entice the knowing 
bass from its hidden lair, he baited his words with artificial candor, 
and set them temptingly to speech to catch her curiosity. 

This mornin’ I wuz busy movin’ into my cabin at Fightin’ P’int, 


28 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


an’ thinkin’ how I’d fix her up with furbelows and frills an’ hev a 
scrumptious time.” 

Peggy snapped viciously at the bait. Fix who up ?” Her each 
word had a sharp click. 

Why, the cabin, uv coui*se. Did you think I meaned a girl ? 
’Tain’t fer me to put the furbelows an’ frills on them ; they git ’em 
thar themselves, nateral-like, like the curl in a drake’s tail. I’m all 
right fer the scrumptious time, though. An’ I wuz plannin’ how I’d 
go to work in arnest an’ put in craps an’ tend ’em good. Maybe I’ll 
take a notion to take a girl thar some day, ef I kin halter one. ’Pears 
like the’re mighty skittish.” 

Maybe they hev to be when you’re about. Hedge.” 

Peggy was edging up to the seductive decoy, though not a little 
flurried by her false bite and Hedge’s provokingly indefinite Maybe 
I’ll take a notion.” 

^‘Some uv ’em ; but you needn’t to be. Peg. You needn’t to shy 
off ez if you wuz afraid. I hain’t got no blind halter behind me in 
my hand, to cotch you unbeknownst, an’ slip the bit in your mouth 
afore you knows it, like you hev to fer a contrary boss that won’t stan’ 
fer catchin’. You needn’t to shy off.” 

Peggy’s hands were resolutely tucked under her apron, as she 
leaned against the gate-post ; but a foot was swinging the gate back- 
ward and forward at a speed answerable to her moods. 

Hedge continued, looking up quizzically, ‘^I’m thinkin’ the P’int 
’ll fetch good craps, Peggy, an’ I’ll hev lots of posies fer — fer some- 
body.” 

Peggy laughed merrily. ‘^Fer somebody? Air you goin’ to hev 
a pickin’-match when the posies gits in bloom, to see who they’re fer? 
or air you goin’ roun’ the kentry with a bunch uv ’em in one hand an’ 
a hatful uv taters in t’other, to see who you kin git to hev ’em, — with 
you th rowed in ?” 

Hedge felt that he had the right bait, but somehow or other he had 
got it on wrong. He quickly made another cast, as he edged up close. 
“I’ll come to you first, Peggy, — afore ary a nuther un.” 

“ Well, maybe I’ll take a notion to the taters,” she responded, 
saucily. 

“ An’ how about me, ef I’m throwed in ?” Hedge asked, a little 
anxiously, rather wishing that he had his bait back. 

“They say you mustn’t look a gift-hoss in the mouth. Hedge; but 
they’d hev to be bigger an’ better taters than ever growed on Fightin’ 
P’int to work you off with ’em,” answered Peggy, gayly. 

“I wish I wuz the all-firedest bestest an’- biggest tater that ever 
growed, ef taters is goin’ to git you. You might skin me, an’ bile 
me, an’ snip me up an’ fry me, ef you wanted to,” was her lover’s 
response. 

Hedge was carried away, not by the lusciousness of the imagined 
dish, but by the pictured delight of being owned and eaten, somehow 
or other, by his tormentor, — even raw. 

Peggy set the guineas going again with her laugh. “ How mealy 
an’ soft you would look. Hedge, — b’iled !” 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


29 


Peggy was getting the best of him, and knowledge of it worked 
him up for a final throw : so away went pole, line, bait, and all. Now 
don’t laugh at a feller, Peg. I’m in arnest. I’m goin’ to fix up 
Fightin’ P’int, an’ the craps, an’ the posies, an’ the scrumptious times, 
is all fer you an’ nobody else, no time, nohow, noway. I hain’t goin’ 
to ax nobody but you. I hain’t goin’ roun’ with a bunch uv posies 
an’ a hatful uv taters. I’m goin’ to work, an’ be a man, an’ — no 
taters fer ” 

‘^Fer who. Hedge?” She leaped fairly at the bait this time; her 
voice was tinged by sweet knowledge of the answer, and Hedge landed 
her fairly in his arms, without resisting flutter. 

The gate was too old and infirm to care for lovers’ vows; the 
clouds were scurrying too fast and high to catch the whispered words ; 
the stars had too little time to show their twinkling merriment; and 
old Spank, the dog, sat soberly by with knowing looks, from having 
heard such things before. 

Hearts that thump strong, youthful blood, at such times, have 
much else to do than keeping bodies warm ; and April chills and April 
nights can often steal a march upon them. Let’s go in to the fire. 
Hedge. I’m cold. Hain’t you ?” asked Peggy, questioning for some 
comfort in a fellow-feeling. 

‘^I’m warm ez a bake-oven, Peggy. I wouldn’t mind standin’ 
here this-a-way till sun-up, bein’s you’re noway skittish no more. I 
reckon it’ll git warmer when the moon gits up, ef w^e wait a bit.” 

What a contrary wise feller you air, Hedge ! I mind you say in’, 
many’s the time, thet it wuz too cold to go out fer a walk in August, 
w^hen we wuz sittin’ on the same bench in the cabin nigh roastin’.” 

Well,” retorted Hedge to her happy banter, ‘‘ I’d say let’s stay 
yere, ef it wuz Janewary an’ we wuz freezin’. But let’s go in, ef 
you’re cold.” 

Neither breeze nor nipping air was to blame for the toss of Peggy’s 
jetty hair and for her rosy cheeks, nor were the dying embers on the 
hearth at fault for the mellow light in her dark eyes, when she entered 
the cabin door with Hedge close at her heels. 

Abner Byrne was snoring still, with his stockinged feet absorbing 
heat on soles commensurate with the fireplace. The rows of faces in the 
trundle-beds were yet asleep, but twisted from their early regularity, to 
mix with arms and legs in curly heaps as restlessness had wormed them. 

Whoever searches for the antique will never go amiss in a West 
Virginia cabin. If aught of new is found, it is a stray from some 
burst enterprise abandoned by some unlucky owner with only legs and 
money enough left to get away. Here were stools of patterns pre- 
Adamic, in chunks of wood ; chairs of such ample seat and height of 
back, so crooked in their home-made tortuosity, that Noah himself 
might have safely sat in one, even when tipsy, as he sometimes was ; 
bedsteads in which head and foot were interchangeable, and posts 
severe in barked simplicity. Even the patriarchal head of Abner 
Byrne, and the quaint angles of his form, were fitted to the old and 
bric-^-brac surroundings. 

The ‘‘ sparking-bench,” relic of many a close-seated strain upon its 


30 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS, 


massiveness, sat in a corner darkened by friendly chimney -jamb. Hedge 
struck for it, and comfort solid as its oaken seat, with coaxing glance 
at Peggy to sit thereon beside him. 

But Abner Byrne waked up, which stopped Hedge on his way, 
just where the dim firelight showed his torn face to Peggy’s questioning 
eyes. Why, Hedge,” she asked, in some alarm, what is the matter 
with your face? Hit’s all clawed up.” 

After the neutral point on the mountain was passed, where the 
attraction of Berry Lovett left oflF and that of Peggy Byrne began. 
Hedge had no longer thought of the day’s events, but sped along the 
path between the two, with Peggy only in his mind. Since he reached 
his point of gravitation, his thoughts had been much more on hugs 
than scratches. This, and Peggy’s searching gaze, confused him some- 
what. Besides, he knew it to be an unpardonable sin, in the eyes of 
Peggy’s law, to hold back news one instant beyond good chance for 
telling, and that she would have the whole story out of him forthwith, 
if it took a wordy fight and a crying-spell to get it. 

Hedge Harner was at all times quick to grasp expediency. He 
was going to answer, forgot to tell you,” assured of Peggy’s under- 
standing of the way time had flown; but there was her father, wide 
awake, looking from under his bushy eyebrows, ready to laugh the lie at 
him for giving such improbable reason for holding such prolific news. 
So that way for gaining time to cool surprise was barred. He plunged 
into his story, determined to keep away from obstructing snags about 
its prelude at the spring. 

snagged it chasin’ Corner Lovett to Fightin’ Rocks. He’s 
drownded in the Devil’s Pot, fer shootin’ Berry Lovett.” 

What!” exclaimed Abner Byrne, in surprise. Who drownded 
him ?” 

^^Oh, Hedge I” cried Peggy at the same time, ^^air you hurt? air 
you hurt anywhere else?” 

A bit bruised on my arm, yere, an’ snagged a’most all over. But 
’tain’t nothin’. Peg,” Hedge answered to her anxious appeal. He 
drownded himself when I rolled into the swirl with him ; an’ he like 
to hev drownded me.” 

Oh, Hedge, but I’m glad you hain’t !” said Peggy, earnestly, as 
she carefully took hold of the wounded arm he pointed to, and gazed 
at it with a heart-longing to do something for it more than simple touch 
could do. 

What did he shoot her fer?” questioned Abner Byrne. 

“ I don’t know,” Hedge replied. Granny told me he thought a 
power uv her, an’ wuz pesterin’ her ’cause she wouldn’t hev him. I 
reckon her not hevin’ him wuz it.” 

The crooked cur !” exclaimed Abner. He wuz alius ill an’ 
ornery.” 

‘‘An’ you chased him to kill him for it, Hedge?” queried Peggy, 
her eyes swiftly changing from the soft pitying look of love to spark- 
ling admiration for his bravery. 

“Yes, an’ I caught him in the Devil’s Pot; but he went dead his 
own self. I didn’t kill him.” 


THE WAIFS, OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


31 


Hit’s all the same,” said Abner, with intense satisfaction. He’s 
dead, like he ought to be. Berry wuz ez nice a gal as ther’ wuz in 
these parts. Whar did he hit her. Hedge? Bifle, I reckon. He was 
a master shot.” 

He shot her in the throat, — jist here,” replied Hedge, pointing to 
the spot in Peggy’s fair throat, and meanwliile gaining assurance, from 
the touch, that he was getting along all right. 

Didn’t it kill Berry, Hedge?” Tears were in her eyes, and great 
sympathy, as she asked. 

‘^No,” he replied, ^^it didn’t kill her, but it made her mighty 
poorly, — nigh dead. Granny Lovett an’ me fetched her roun’. Thet’s 
what kep’ me late a-comin’, Peggy, — fetchin’ her roun’. The bullet 
struck an Injin stone thet wuz bangin’ to her neck, an’ slivered it, an’ 
glanced otF. Hit’s put her past speakin’ ; but t’other ways she’s right 
smart ag’in. She come mighty nigh dyin’ afore I carried her home.” 

I’m so glad you wuzn’t hurt wuss, chasin’ an’ cotchin’ him,” said 
Peggy, again devoting her anxious attention to his sleeved arm. He 
wuz a stout man, — stout ez you, — an’ he might hev killed you too. 
I — I wouldn’t had you killed fer nothin’. Why, look here. Hedge ; 
here’s two bullet-holes through your sleeve. Air you shot? You 
tolled me you wuzn’t hurted much, an’ yere’s blood. Oh, Hedge, tell 
me, air you shot?” 

Hedge’s complete surprise at the discovery that there were two 
bullet-holes, and Peggy’s anxiety, knocked down all the safeguards he 
had hastily erected. Bullet-holes they certainly were, that Peggy was 
showing him with alarm ; and there was blood quite fresh ; but how 
they got there he had not an idea to prod dull speculation with. 

Corner tried to shoot me, but I lit on him too quick fer him to 
git his aim. Then he tried dubbin’, but I wuz hold uv his throat, an’ 
too fur under fer strikin.’ I didn’t know I wuz shot. I feeled some- 
thin’ stingin’ on my arm, but I reckoned it wuz only a brier er sech.” 

Peggy was busy unbuttoning and pushing up his sleeve, while he 
was speaking. There, on his arm, was the track of a ball, cutting the 
skin ; probably the recent bending of his arm at the gate had some- 
thing to do with the fresh bleeding. 

Abner Byrne was an old hunter, well stored with woodcraft, which 
was his pride and greatest pleasure. He would rather track a deer, or 
help a constable run down a stranger, than have any other happiness 
in his little world, excepting two ; these were the capture of the deer 
and tracking the constable himself, especially if the latter was to save 
some friend, or doer of a crime not quite beyond his own, if not the 
law’s, forgiveness. Therefore he pricked up his ears at once, and bent 
his whole detective force to solve the mystery. Let me look at it. 
Peg. Stan’ away. Stir the fire a bit. Come nigher the fire. Hedge, 
so’s I kin see good. I’ll soon tell the specifications of it : I kin tell 
you jist how he got them two shots.” Then, as Peggy quickened the 
fire to a blaze, he made Hedge kneel in its light, while he, from close 
investigation, announced discovery as he went along ; 

‘‘ The bullet hez went through the sleeve, clean ; leastwise it hadn’t 
hit nothin’ first solid enough to smash the ball. Purty good stuff in 


32 


THE WAIFS OF FIOHTJNO ROCKS. 


this shirt. Yere’s the two holes over aghn’ one another. The feller 
thet fired thet shot wuzu’t fur oflF. Good-sized ball, — forty-five bore 
rifle, I reckon ; thet’s the size uv Corner^s rifle. Too much powder, 
— burned at the muzzle ; yere’s black off the ball. Leather patch ; 
grease hain’t melted. Arm must hev been bent. First blood hain’t 
caked ; must hev been nigh fresh when you fell in the water, fer it’s 
spread out frum wettin’. Shot afore you fell in. Shot through the 
slack uv the sleeve. Now let’s see your arm.” 

He bared Hedge’s arm again, studied it carefully, and then went 
on: “Arm cut straight across jist above the elbow; shot must hev 
come frum squar in front. ’Tain’t cut much, jist nipped ; been done 
some time, bleedin’ fresh. Cut pulls open wide when I straighten your 
arm ; your arm wuz bended when you wuz shot, an’ wuzn’t hangin’ 
down, nuther. Where wuz you when Corner shot Berry, Hedge ?” 

The old hunter’s eyes shone with excitement as he rapidly traced 
the bullet’s course and as he gave his reasons ; and now, as he asked 
the question. Hedge Harner felt that the keen eyes were piercing into 
his very thoughts and prying open every concealment. 

Hedge was not a liar. He could play with truth a good while, 
just as one plays the game of jack-straws, without shaking, — taking 
good care not to tumble the structure ; or he could fire away at truth 
without hitting it, making mighty effort, like throwing a newspaper at 
a mark ; or he could dodge about it with wonderful dexterity ; but 
with the keen old hunter on his track he knew that he must be run 
smack into truth sooner or later. He decided that it was best to take 
refuge with the staid personage at once, unpleasant as it was, like 
leaping a stream when there is a certainty of falling in and getting 
an icy sousing : so he answered, “I wuz at the spring, jist back of 
Granny Lovett’s on Big Head. I’d gone to git some water fer granny. 
You know where it is. Corner he wuz ’cross the Fork on t’other side. 
Berry wuz sittin’ down thar by the spring, fixin’ some posies fer granny. 
That wuz the time Corner fired.” 

“ Did you see the flash ?” Abner’s eyes showed the dawn of a new 
light in them as he asked the question. 

“ No,” answered Hedge, doubtfully, “ but I heerd it.” 

“ Wuzn’t facin’ that way,” muttered the old man, while in thought. 
“ Sittin’ down ?” 

“Yes,” answered Hedge, realizing that Abner was about to paint 
a circumstantial picture, if he did not furnish real data. 

A gleam of merriment played in Abner’s eyes as he saw Hedge’s 
confusion. Like all of his kind, he well loved a joke; and when it 
lay in the direction of either his curiosity or his trailing instinct, so 
much the better. He questioned further. “ Sittin’ close?” 

“ Purty close. Ther’ hain’t much room about the spring, you 
mind ?” Hedge gave a quick apprehensive glance at Peggy as he said 
this. 

Peggy was standing in front of the fire, looking down upon her 
father with the same keen interest in her face that shone in his, with- 
out the mark of merriment. Her lips were parted. She seemed 
rapt in visioning the scene he was drawing out of Hedge like the 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


33 


Vinrolliug of a panorama. Her lithe form was poised in expectancy, 
and nerved as though there was a sudden, misty, half-dawning of what 
was coming, and a half-developed mind to hiss. 

do kinder mind hevin’ to set ‘purty close’ thar. Hit wuz 
away yander back when Jude Lovett wuz a gal ; afore she wuz married. 
She wuz a purty gal ; ’bout ez purty ez Berry is now. I wuz kinder 
sweet on her in them days, an’ liked sittin’ ‘purty close,’ jist like the 
fellers does nowadays, I reckon.” 

The old hunter’s mouth closed with a suppressive pucker, leaving 
his long beard to shake with his laugh in silence. His face was puffed 
up by the enjoyment inside of him at watching Hedge’s discomfiture. 
He saw the secret of the bullet-holes himself, but resolved to have 
some fun out of it ; nor, with the thick-skinned hardiness of a moun- 
taineer, did he care who suffered for it. A joke was a joke, and 
privileged beyond a funeral. “I hev it. Peg. I’ll show you how the 
holes got thar in his sleeve. Come set down here ’longside uv Hedge, 
an’ I’ll show you. They can’t fool me none on a trail.” 

Abner was jubilant ; Hedge was cornered ; while Peggy came with 
a determined bound and sat herself on the floor beside him. She gave 
Hedge one look that admonished him to do what he was told, then 
again rested her eyes in deep questioning on her father. 

The old hunter arranged his tableau joyously. “ Set close to her. 
Hedge ; you can’t fool me. Thet’s it ! Put your left arm round . her 
neck ; you’ve hed it thar afore, to-night, else I’m mistaken, er maybe 
I’m no jedge uv signs; fer yere’s some cedar sprigs stickin’ in Peg’s 
back ha’r, like’s on your sleeve. You got ’em cornin’ ’long over. You 
needn’t color up about it, Hedge. I’d hev done it myself to ez purty 
a gal ez Peg when I wuz young. Thar, that arm’s fixed right. Lean 
back ag’in’ it a leetle. Peg. Thar! that’s nateral. Now put this arm 
up, Hedge, roun’ front, — like one arm wuzn’t enough to hold a feller 
‘ purty close.’ Thar 1 stretch your neck back a leetle. Peg. Thar ! 
that’s it. Turn your face up; h’ist your chin. Thar! that’s it. 
See now, Hedge; the holes in your sleeve air jist p’intedly right front 
uv the leetle saft place on Peggy’s windpipe ; jist whar that locket — ez 
Peg ealls it — is a-layin’ now. When Corner fired frum ’cross the Fork, 
that’s jist how you an’ Berry wuz. Them’s the specifications uv it ez 
near ez signs kin tell. An’, Hedge, hit’s my opinion thet Corner wuz 
a-shootin’ at your head ’stead of Berry’s; I ’spicion thet you wuz 
a-kissin’ her.” 

It was not the fire-glow that reddened Peggy Byrne’s face, for her 
rounded features were fixed as if in ice ; nor was it the fire-leap flash- 
ing back from her eyes that scorched Hedge Harner with its glitter ; 
nor was it the loud laugh of Abner Byrne that wakened the children 
from their cuddles and set them upright in their beds to stare their 
wild astonishment; it was the fierce jealousy and anger of the out- 
raged girl, growing as the vivid pantomime in which she played a 
passive part revealed its import, and the file-like squeak of grating 
words, as she filled the cabin with their shriek. 

Leaping from the fold of the mimic embrace as though a snake 
Were coiling about her, and pointing to the door, as if the very im- 
VoL. LV.— 3 


34 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


periousness of the gesture would banish Hedge from her sight, she . 
commanded, ‘‘Take your hat an’ go. Go! Go! Go! Don’t set 
thar lookin’ at me. Go ! Go to her you kin hug an’ kiss an’ git shot 
with. Go git your bucket uv water fer Granny Lovett, an’ help fix 
posies fer her, an’ hev to set close to Elderberry while you’re lettin’ on 
to do it. She’s no better than she ought to be. Tell her she’s a 
throw-away; a nasty come-across-the-fields ; a deceitful creeter. Tell 
her I said so. I b’lieve she’s done the same thing with Corner Lovett, 
an’ he wiiz jalous, an’ fired at you. I wish he’d killed her. Tell her 
Peggy Byrne is ez good ez she is any day in the week, an’ I dare 
her to say I hain’t. An’ her ole granny mustn’t ever darken that 
door ag’in. Go tell her I hain’t mean enough to stay with another 
girl’s company, no time. Take your hat an’ go.” 

It is one of the idiosyncrasies of love to vent its wrath on any 
other than the loved one. Will the loving wife fling blame upon her 
husband, if she can charge his faults upon his inoflending comrades? 
Will not the gentle maiden roused to wrath charge the hardest defence 
in her lover’s armor, rather than pierce him through uncovered spot, 
and fly ruthlessly at fair foes all about her, with fierce disdain as lance 
at rest ? 

But Peggy Byrne had stirred the grain that turned the balance of 
Hedge Hamer’s mind : that grain was justice. Confused, cornered, 
exposed, laughed at, ordered out like a dog, feeling in his own heart 
the wrong done him, the injustice to Berry, he roused to her defence. 
Rising to his feet, he looked steadily into Peggy’s flashing eyes, and 
firmly said, in a tone unpropped by passion, “You shan’t blame Berry 
fer it, Peg, noway. She didn’t do nothin’, nohow. I won’t tell her 
what you’ve said, no time. She’s ez good a girl ez you air. Hit wuz 
me foolin’ thet done it. You shan’t blame Berry fer it.” 

This was the shawl of a matador to Peggy. Her anger had been 
spending itself through the gnaw love made in it; but she rallied when 
defence was shaken for her rival. “ You’re not goin’ to stick up fer 
Berry afore me. Go tell her what I’ve said, if you hain’t afeard. 
Take your hat an’ go — ef — ef you wants to.” 

There was the tinge of a wail in the “ ef you wants to.” If Hedge 
Harner had said just then that he did not “ want to,” he would have 
had a pair of loving arms about his neck, a sobbing girl on his heart; 
and — who would have gone under such circumstances? 

Hedge Harner was a manly fellow. When his heart was stirred it 
was in but one direction at a time, and now his sympathies were all 
with Berry. His heart was sore because his self-blame had not been 
a shield for Berry rather than a target for Peggy. He resolved to 
say no more. Then self entered his head for the first time: he was 
ordered to “take his hat an’ go.” He looked at Peggy for an instant; 
his chin quivered, his long eyelashes swept suddenly over his clear 
brown eyes, thoughts were fighting with words, and words with voice, 
until at last the most fitting expression came to tell of his desolation : 
“ I’ve lost my hat ; an’ I hain’t had no supper. Good-by.” He 
dashed through the door-way and was gone. 

“ Hedge, — Hedge, — Hedgy, — come back ! I’ll git you some.” 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


35 


The loving cry was too late. Old Spank was yelping from being 
trodden on by a hurried step where he lay outside the cabin door; the 
guineas were letting off their night alarm at the fall of the rickety 
gate with crash and clatter ; and Hedge Harner was speeding along 
the mountain-side as if Fates and Furies and all the embodiments of 
grief were at his heels. Headaches, heart-aches, and many other aches 
yield to a rapid walk in good clear mountain air. Legs, lungs, and 
liver active, the mind vibrates to their according tune and the clanging 
notes of a cracked heart but seldom mar their harmony. By the time 
Hedge had reached the summit of the divide between Big Head Fork 
and Poplar Bench, where the trail lay slanting down to Fighting Point 
or steep in rocky ways to Granny Lovett^s cabin, grief had been left 
behind on the toilsome track, and the buoyancy of his youth had out- 
stripped all his harrowing companions. He stopped at the trails fork 
to think a minute. The soughing of the gusty air-puffs through the 
capping pines, the flits of light and shadow as the clouds played on 
them with the willing moonbeams, the creep of the mist along the 
narrow ravines, the far-down gleam of Granny Lovett’s light, making 
an illumined funnel in the fog, and the dull red patch upon the dark- 
ness, of Abner Byrne’s wide-open door- way, were the sounds and sights 
to touch him in his loneliness. Three strong pulls were there to draw 
him as to ways, — back to Peggy, down to Berry, or on to his home at 
Fighting Point. He stood at the neutral point, but the fairy cable 
anchored in Granny Lovett’s still lay between him and its sweet keeper. 
He looked at the lonely path, and thought of his lonelier home. A 
light-winged sprite of thought touched him suddenly. He laughed 
aloud, and said, ‘^Ther’ must be somethin’ in it. Hit all comes uv 
settlin’ on Fightin’ P’int, an’ the fightin’ hez moved in ’long with me. 
I’ll hev to kick it out; it shan’t boss me. I’ll hev no jawin’ back’ard 

an’ forrid there. Gee-wuppity ! wiizn’t Peggy mad at — at — at 

great snakes ! hit wuzn’t me at all ; hit wuz Berry. Here I’ve been 
worritin’ ’bout hit bein’ me. 

Ole Abner drawed that pictur’ good. Hit were all my fault, like 
I said. Berry wouldn’t hev told me to take my hat. Ha ! ha ! I told 
Peggy I hedn’t none ; ’twuzn’t sassin’, though : I felt mighty low 
down when I said that. An’ I telled her I hedn’t hed no supper. 
Hit wuzn’t proud in me to say that, but — but I hed a mis’ry, — a big 
mis’ry, — an’ that jist come in my head. Hevin’ no supper’s a mis’ry. 
I’ll bet Peggy is worritin’ ’bout it. Peg’s good-hearted, but she’s 
cumscratchitty. I never seed her hev sich a bad spell afore. I 
wouldn’t keer to raise a crap uv them spells on Fightin’ P’int.” 

Hedge looked down the tapering vista of rays to Granny Lovett’s 
window, and settled into deep thought. Presently he said, softly, 
‘^She tried to kiss me back ag’in, — dyin’. An’ she hed the little Injin 
trick I give her, hid away, — -lovin’. She wouldn’t hev told me to take 
my hat ; she never hed a spell uv cumscratchitty with me. She wuz 
alius saft, an’ quiet, an’ — an’ she tried to kiss me back ag’in.” 

The fairy cable was drawing him. He stretched out his arms as 
if to receive some loving embrace, then walked quietly down the path 
to where the spell- woven cord lay peacefully at its anchor. 


36 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


The door of Granny Lovett’s cabin was closed against the white 
fog-sea growing from the sweat of Big Head’s rapid flow. The light 
from within glared through the four-paned window, to be captured 
close outside by leaves and stalks and pointed buds of prairie rose, 
which turned them into graceful forgings black as iron tracery. Here 
and there between conspiring log-chinks imprisoned rays escaped to 
scatter cautiously amid the friendly mist. By the open fireside Granny 
Lovett sat in her high-backed chair, sound asleep ; but such was the 
baby habit with her that daintiest cherub might have rested in her 
ample lap, or nestled in her folding arms, secure from any tumble. 

The rounded lines of a nine-patch quilt covering the corner bed, a 
snowy arm shaped by health and exercise lying in rest upon it, a 
wanton stray of sensuous curls over the pillow’s seductive purity, a 
glimpse of crease and curve where chin and neck were cuddled, a face 
at rest, yet maddening in its sleeping whelm of ripe enchantments, 
like depths and colors in a saffron rose, all told that Berry’s pretty self 
was laid there, sleeping soundly in that barren waste of life where 
even dreams were torpid. 

Hedge opened the door quietly and entered. A peep through the 
window had shown him that Granny was on guard, even though she 
slept at her post. The claws of True Boy, Granny’s dog, rattled upon 
the bare floor, like muffled castanets, as he danced about with joy at 
seeing Hedge, and sneezed, his only speech allowable when any one 
was sleeping. Granny’s ears were trained to every noise above a 
baby’s earliest breath. She raised her head, and, seeing who it was 
that roused True Boy to such unwonted demonstrations, gave that 
enjoining nod of caution which only tried professionals acquire, to 
raise intruders on their toes and awe them into humble silence, then 
pointed to a seat down by the fire, where she, by leaning, could enjoy 
his touch and lowest tones for close communion. 

I’m powerful glad you’ve come back. Hedge,” she whispered, as 
he sat upon the hearth and nursed his knee for back support. ^^The 
folks hev all gone home, an’ Berry’s been asleep this hour an’ more. 
I wuz feelin’ kinder lonesome, thinkin’ ” 

You were sound asleep, granny,” whispered Hedge, interrupting 

her. 

Hit’s no such thing. Hit’s no such thing. I wuz wide awake. 
I hain’t closed my eyes this whole blessed evenin’. I never sleep a 
wink when any one’s ailin’. Watch an’ pray fer ’em till they gits about 
ag’in, ez the Scripter says. That’s my way uv doin’. Where hev 
you been, Hedge? I’m glad you’ve come ag’in. Hev you hed your 
supper? Ef you leave my cabin ag’in empty. I’ll spank you, like 
you often needed, an* ” 

An’ didn’t get it,” injected Hedge, as he loosened his knee-hold 
to pat the old lady’s hand in affection’s play. 

Whether it was his shadow moving across her face as he stirred, or 
the gentle tap of a loved one’s ))resence upon her sleeping senses, — that 
mystic pleasure, coming like a sweet scent upon the wind, — that opened 
Berry’s eyes and sharpened every faculty, open they were, and from 
their long-lashed nests were looking at him lovingly. 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


37 


Wild and careless as Hedge Harner was, manly and strong as 
youth’s blood made him, he was yet a child in his yearning for affection. 
The old striped cat, rubbing out its purrs against his leg, felt good to 
him ; the touch of Granny Lovett’s hand was like the inspiring touch 
of Faith, and each gave glow and strength where not a little soreness 
rankled from Peggy’s jealous wound. His hand stayed close with 
Granny’s, as he swung his body round to rest against her knee. Don’t 
be hard on me to-night, granny,” he said, in a low tone, as he looked 
up at her and smiled his sense of security. I’ve hed a hard day uv 
it. I moved in ter Fightin’ P’int this forenoon, an’ it’s been nothin’ but 
fight, fight, ever since. Ef it wuzn’t thet I’ve telled myself, sartin, 
thet I’d stay thar, I’d take my bit uv bacon under my arm an’ move 
out. But I’m sot on stayin’, ez the mule said when they tried to pull 
him out uv the corn-crib by the tail. I’m goin’ to tell you all about it. 
Thet’s what I come fer this mornin’ ; but things hez got all humpitty 
up sence then, like — like a mad cat in a brush-heap, — stickers all roun’ 
ef a feller stays in, an’ a clawin’ ef he comes out.” 

^^Go on, Hedgy dear,” Granny said, tightening her clasp on his 
hand, and making her face more motherly by a look of assuring inter- 
est. Go on. Your ole granny kin keep the stickers an’ dogs off 
you yit.” 

Hedge moved uneasily, and pulled his feet up under him, as if 
bunching himself for an effort. (The soft eyes behind him grew softer 
still, and drenched with sympathy.) 

‘^I’ve made up my mind to git a start, — git somethin’ fer myself, 
ahead-like. I hain’t a-keerin’ fer it fer myself, nuther; hit’s fer” 
(the eyes behind him brightened, and the pillow was whiter, where 

the quick flush of expectancy spread upward from it) — fer Well, 

ez I was sayin’, I’ve made up my mind to git somethin’ ahead fer some- 
body. This forenoon I’d ’bout made up my mind to ax — furder along. 
Me an’ Peggy Byrne hez been keepin’ company — sparkin’ like — fer a 
right smart while ; an’ this forenoon I’d ’bout made up my mind to ax 
her — furder along. I keer a sight fer her, an’ — an’ ” 

(The eyes behind him were closed tightly by lids that quivered hard 
lines of pain. The pillow looked soft and warm beneath the rigid set 
of the pale cheek.) 

Granny Lovett leaned down over Hedge anxiously, and nervously 
fingered his hand. Hush,” she whispered. You might waken her. 
Don’t cast your pearls before swine, ’cept the pigs is wuth more’n the 

pearls ; ez the good Book says. I know a pig My Berry is 

Oh, look, Hedge ! Look at Berry !” 

Hedge turned quickly. Berry sat half raised, bending toward him, 
with one hand resting on the bed, and the other shaking with the in- 
tensity of its point at the cabin window. Her eyes were fixed upon it 
with the stony stare of terror ; her mouth was open for a cry of fright ; 
her bare breast was strained to sharp angles by a shriek that would not 
come. Hedge leaped to his feet, and wheeled to look in the direction 
from whence came her fright. 

Close to the window, with the black leaves binding it like a maniac’s 
wreath, was a ghastly face glaring in upon her with a frenzy not unlike 


38 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


her own. It was the face of Corner Lovett, resting like a mask upon 
tlie night without, his coal-black eyes and jetty beard set out like those 
upon a waxen figure of a dying brigand. Hedge paled, and backed to 
cover Berry with his fear-nerved form. Granny Lovett strained on 
his gripj)ecl arm in helpless amazement. True Boy sniffed at the cabin 
door and howled. A horrid yell rang in and out and all about the 
house. Then came a crash of glass, a puif of wind. Spark-filled 
ashes leaped from the fireplace; the flame shook and died ; the lamp 
went out ; and into the utter darkness pierced the sharp jangle of a 
demon^s laugh. 


CHAPTER III. 

Where for a century and a half the moon’s ^Mark” and ^^full” 
and registering quarters” subdivided time and made the settlers’ only 
almanac, where the zodiac’s signs controlled all acts of men and women, 
save those that swelled the legions under superstition’s sway, the haunt 
of a ghost at Granny Lovett’s cabin was more engrossing topic than 
Corner Lovett’s drowning or Berry’s miraculous escape. 

On all the branches, juts, meadows, and divides having the taint 
of Big Head’s waters, doors were closed and windows barred as soon 
as the sun laid down its setting shadows. Women went out by twos 
and threes in fearful company. Men hurried from their work, or fish, 
or hunt, to reach their log security, scared to high speed by hoot of 
owl or splash of frog or sudden shake of light. Children covered 
their heads, huddled in heaps in bed, and went to sleep because of 
strange comfort from one another’s terror. Months passed by. The 
whereabouts of Corner Lovett’s body was still a mystery. Fighting 
Rocks glowered at each other with blacker faces, as summer foliage 
darkened them. Big Head grew thin and shoal from summer’s thirst, 
and muttered gloomily in knowledge of its dread secret. Fighting Point 
alone seemed freed from all disquietude at ghostly presence. Its apples 
hung in fleshy clusters ; its fences showed the stalwart propping of new 
stakes; its briers lay in browning piles ready for flame to burn them 
down to ashes. The garden was gridironed by rows of thriving vege- 
tables. A corn-field waved its glossy blades and shook its russet pom- 
pons in pride of the promise of golden ears. A patch of wheat was 
rocking like a billowed pond at sunrise. The cabin logs had come 
together, the door swung open on friendly hinges, and the roof was 
laid with clapboards bright and new, without a sign of difference 
between them. Close by, on clean bright rows, capped by blossoming 
potato- vines. Hedge Harner hoed with lusty strokes, entirely out of 
form for idleness. 

The mountaineers had given Hedge a day. With horse and plough, 
ox, ass, and bull team, with axe, scythe, and riving frow, with hoe, 
spade, and shovel, hammer, saw, and plane, men came from Big Head 
Fork, and Jordan Creek, and all about, to give him a lifting start on 
Fighting Point. Women, too, came with pockets stored with seeds, 
and aprons filled with plants, and with nimble fingers, to poke, dig, 
and plant, until not a proper spot was bare or bit of gossip unrecorded. 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


39 


For Hedge was a favorite everywhere ; but chasing Corner Lovett to 
his death, facing his ghost with bravery, and, above all, boldly cap- 
turing Fighting Point in the face of litigants and courts, had stirred 
the natives to united praise and prompted them for once, in work, to 
unity of action. So they had given Hedge a day, and furbished the 
Point until everything contentious was wiped out. They had fixed, 
and built, and planted, until all was new again, even its name; for it 
was resolved, and confirmed by many a conglomerate oath, that it was 
Hedgers Point by squattePs right of eminent domain ; and woe be to 
the man who undertook to put the sovereign from it. 

Hedge had multiplied that day by earnest labor ; and its happiness, 
by painting radiant futures on all of those days that were to come. 

1^11 git her yit,’^ he said, aloud, as he hoed with vim, drawing the 
mellow earth to cover the tubers deeper from the baking sun and 
summer’s drought. ‘‘Pll git her yit. I can^t make her out, though. 
Ever since that night that Corner skeered her she’s been — I don’t 
know how : lovin’ enough lookin’ at me, when I cotch her chance 
times thinkin’ so fur away that she forgits ; an’ tendin’ enough to me, 
when she sees me give a look fer anything. ’Pears like she knows 
afore I do what’s wantin’; an’ she’s alius doin’ somethin’ fer me, 
quiet-like, thet I hedn’t thought uv wantin’ ary time. Them’s signs, 
them’s standin’ signs. I guess Pll git her. She’s sorrowin’ ’bout 
somethin’, an’ I can’t git a scald on what it’s about. ’Taint ’cause she 
can’t say nothin’ ; fer she don’t seem like she wants to say nothin’. 
Ef I j’ine gittin’ anyways saft, er sparkin’, er feelin’ like Pd give my 
hull pertater- patch fer jist one leetle touch uv her, she walks off slow- 
like, an’ by an’ by I’ll find her kee|)in’ in a cryin’-spell somewhar; an’ 
then I — I’d rather hoe myself under, down yere with the taters, than 
tech her an’ make her cry ag’in. She used to be alius laughin’ an’ 
peert ez a red-bird. When she looks smilin’ at me now, I p’intedly 
feel like goin’ an’ hevin’ a bawl myself. Ef she could only talk, I’d 
git it out uv her, — bein’ a girl. I don’t b’lieve she could keep it in. 
Girls is like conch-shell horns ; ef you git your ear close ’nough to ’em, 
you kin hear all ther’ is in ’em. The gittin’ close, — that’s the thing.” 

Hedge struck a few blows in silence ; then, as if overcome by some 
master throw of thought, he rested his hoe upon the ground and pressed 
its long handle tightly to him. ‘^She tried to kiss me back ag’in, — 
dyin’,” he said, softly. ‘‘Thet’s the juice uv it. ’Pears like I alius 
see her that-a-way, when I git to frettin’ about her. I can’t git away 
frum that, ner Berry can’t neither. I’ll git her yit.” 

Hedge seized the hoe-handle vigorously, and hoed a whole row 
before he exhausted his certainty; then the hoe came down with extra 
energy and stood bolt upright, like an exclamation-point, with his 
hands resting on top of it. I wonder if granny told her ’bout 
Peggy ! Granny hez been kinder cutersome uv late, an’ offish. She 
hezn’t said nothin’, noway, ’bout Berry to me; an’ she axes me why I 
don’t go on keepin’ company with Peggy. Peggy’s a nice girl, an’ I 
keers a sight fer her, an’ — but I can’t git over her tellin’ me to take 
my hat, an’ what she said ’bout Berry. She’s too cumscratchitty, 
Peggy is. But I keers fer her yit, — more’n she does fer me.” 


40 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


Hedge Hamer’s face was comparable to a teu-second-flash light- 
house at all times, but now it suddenly flashed a brighter light than 
ever, from some unusual combustion of thought behind it. He gave 
the hoe an emphatic stamp in the ground, as he exclaimed, Gee-wuts ! 
I’ve got it. I’ve cotchal the meanin’ uv the frettiu’, an’ cryin’, an’ 
walkin’ olF slow-like, an’ lookin’ at me like she’d — like she forgits 
she’s lookin’. She’s heerd me tellin’ granny that night that I keered 
a sight fer Peggy. Them words I said jist now kinder fetched it back 
to me ; ‘ I keer a sight fer her.’ I’ll soon straighten that out, — straight 
ez this hoe-hannel. I’ll tell Berry all about it, fair-like, an’ I’m 
’spicionin’ she’ll try to kiss me back ag’in, — livin’. Gee-wuts! I’ll 
git her yit.” 

He gave the hoe a toss in the air, and made Fighting Point ring 
with his rejoicing whoop-ee !” until even the birds, used as they were 
to his melodious exuberance, chattered rackety surprise. An instant 
later they were in less confusion than Hedge, and their most confi- 
dential twitter was a pandemonium to his silence. For Granny Lovett’s 
laugh and voice from close behind him acted like a wool-fleece in a 
bell, stopping the sound and encumbering the clapper. 

‘‘What on airth air you so set up about. Hedge? You’re like a 
soundin’ brass an’ a tinklin’ pair uv cymbals, ez the good Book sez.” 

Hedge turned slowly, while he collected his thoughts, as if winding 
up some weighty reason in himself. Surprise stopped him short, when 
he saw Granny standing between the potato-rows, her ruddy face in 
laughing twists beneath the prim rigidity of her starched sun-bonnet. 
Berry stood beside her, a wreath of curls shading her fair face in 
playful courtesy, while her well-filled hat was doing basket duty, 
swung by its ribbon handle from her hand. 

Hedge was never long encumbered by blank embarrassment when, 
on chance occasions, it did lay hold of him. His spreading blush was 
swiftly embossed as decoration for a daring gaze at Berry, as he 
answered Granny’s question : “ I wuz thinkin’ who’d help me eat my 
crap uv taters when they wuz done growed.” 

Berry turned from his gaze, with racing color coursing her cheeks, 
to look at Granny pleadingly on behalf of some bright vision Hedge’s 
look had conjured up, fearing that she might banish it by some dis- 
solving question. But Granny Lovett had had to do with men as well 
as babies. She knew that there were times when they were wisely 
left alone to bite their own rebellious fingers. She replied to Hedge 
warily, “ You’re countin’ your ducks afore they come frum the river. 
Hedge. Hit might chance thet a snapper ’ud git some uv ’em. I’m 
thinkin’ the girl you’re waitin’ fer to come ’ll bile her own taters yet a 
bit. Berry an’ me biled some fer you, an’ fetched you some supper. 
You work too long. Hedge, atween meals; an’ you git home too late. 
I’m afeard fer you to pass Fightin’ Rocks in the night time, like you 
alius does, coinin’ to keep me an’ Berry company, ’cause we’re lone- 
some an’ afeard serice the — sence the — sence Corner Lovett’s ghost 
hez hanted us. I’ve prayed fer him a sight, Hedge. I’ve went into 
the corn-crib an’ prayed, like the good Book means when you hain’t 
no closet ner nothin’. I’ve put up many an arnest prayer fer him ; 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


41 


but I^m afeard he’s gone to hell in spite uv me. They say his spook 
was out ag’in last night. Sing Myers seed it this mornin’ afore big 
light, over to Jordan’s Creek, where he went to take up his set-net. I 
wuz over thar to see Mary Susan an’ the young uns an’ take some uv 
my balsam salve fer the baby, thet hez a bealin’ on its finger. Sing’s laid 
up with shakin’ rheumatiz, thet seein’ Corner’s spook give him. He 
spilled his fish an’ run all the way hum, an’ hain’t took his head frum 
under the bed-kivers yit. Sing says its face was the color uv a grind- 
stone, an’ its hump wuz ten times ez big ez ever; ah’ it hed a tail that 
stuck out straight an’ hed prongs to it — on the eend uv it — like a 
fishin’-spear. Sing Myers is sartin uv it. He wuz skeered nigh to 
death. I wouldn’t go ’long Jordan’s Creek ner Fightin’ Rock trail 
arter night, no, not fer — fer oodlins uv money ; like the devil wanted 
our good Lord to take an’ git down on his knees to him — unless I 
hed my Bible along. Nothin’ kin hant you, with the word uv God in 
your hands, er in your dress pocket, ef your hands is full. Berry an’ 
me minded to come over an’ tell you. Don’t come along Fightin’ 
Rock trail arter sundown, Hedgy dear. Promise your ole granny you 
won’t. I hain’t afeard, myself, but I worrit about you.” 

Berry’s lips moved as if to speak, and her throat struggled with 
inarticulate words ; but only her beseeching eyes, and hand earnestly 
laid on Hedge’s arm, voiced her earnest pleading. 

It was pleasant to Hedge to be thus supplicated to his own safety ; 
and, man-like, he followed a well-formulated instinct to get more of it. 

I hain’t afeard,” he replied, stoutly. ^^You needn’t to worry ’bout 
me, ary time. I never wuz afeard uv Corner, livin’, ef he wuz 
stouter than me; an’ I hain’t afeard uv him now, no time.” 

The race of rivalling heart-steeds was over on Berry’s cheeks, and 
the empty courses were sodden and forsaken. She glided her hand up 
his arm, as he raised it in defiance at Corner’s shade, and pressed it 
gently to his side again. She scattered his half-feigned heroism with 
eyes more potent than ever spectre looked through ; the quickened 
spirit of love was looking at him. 

Well, I won’t, then, ef it’ll be comfortin’ to you. Berry.” 

He tried to take hold of her petitioning hand, but she quickly 
transferred it to Granny Lovett’s waist. 

You needn’t hev jerked it away like that. Berry. I wuz only 
wantin’ to shake hands on the bargain,” said Hedge, with marked dis- 
comfiture. 

bargain’s a bargain. Hedge, an’ is no better fer fingerin’,” 
interrupted Granny, protectingly, as she leaned her ample waist toward 
Berry, as far as her centre of gravity would permit upon such over- 
turning things as her rocking feet. Did you hear that Jedham’s 
store was robbed last night, at the mouth of Jurdan’s Creek? Who- 
ever did it took a hull back load uv all sorts uv things, but mostly 
grub an’ fishin’-tricks. Mose Hayes hed a new fishin’-spear thet he’d 
left there ; they took it. There’s a sight uv thievin’ goin’ on roun’ 
yere. I’d jist p’intedly like to git my ban’s on the feller thet stole a 
hull bakin’ uv bread right out uv my oven in big daylight, an’ afore it 
was rightly browned, while me an’ Berry wuz at the spring. It ’peam 


42 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


like thet a egg hezn’t no show, ef a hen steals her nest in the woods 
an^ cackles about it. Some pesky feller clum my fence like a thief an’ 
a robber an’ stole a ham friini me t’other day ; ez the Scripter says. 
I’d cast him into the bottomless — the bottomless well, an’ het my 
washin’-kittle full uv b’ilin’ water fer him to dance in, ef I hed him. 
Hit’s a wunner to me Ole Scratch never took to b’ilin’ water, ’stead uv 
fire, fer some people. Hit’s a heap liettener.” 

Wliile Granny Lovett was speaking with great earnestness, and by 
gesture upsetting a retributive kettle upon a be-welled thief. Hedge had 
suddenly grown very thoughtful, and stern lines were drawing his 
handsome face to hardness. At last he burst out from the tension. 

thought so. I ’spicioned it all the time. I hain’t said a word 
about it to a livin’ soul, an’ you an’ Berry mustn’t let on to nobody, 
fer the hull kentry’ll be up sarchin’ ag’in. But I’ve ’spicioned it, an’ 
I’ve watched. I’ve slipped out uv nights when you wuz sleepin’ ; an’ 
— I don’t mind tellin’ it — I’ve been nigh skeered to death. I’ve 
sneaked along Fightin’ Rock Trail, an’ peeked into the Devil’s Pot, 
an’ laid along the bed uv Big Head, an’ stood ahind trees, an’ crawled 
under rocks, an’ shook there like I had the agey ; but I outstouted my 
skeer, an’ watched every time fer to see if I could see Corner Lovett, 
livin’ er dead. I’ve never seed him ; but I’ve heerd sounds, an’ seen 
signs, thet wuzn’t them of no spook, noway. Twuzn’t no forked tail 
thet Sing Myers seed this mornin’ ; hit wuz Mose Hayes’s fishin’-spear, 
an’ Corner Lovett carryin’ it. I tell you, granny. Corner Lovett’s a 
livin’ man. He’s a livin’ man this very minute, sure’s I’m standin’ 
yere. I’ve been takin’ keer uv you ag’in’ more’n a spook.” 

Granny Lovett, who had hetted” herself up to the glowing point 
of righteous indignation against her pitted enemy, now cooled to the 
ashy tint of gloomy fear; but Berry’s eyes had reached a blaze of 
wondrous brilliancy. Her face had flushed, her listless form grown 
straight and firm ; her lips were round and rich, and full of pleasure; 
her breast heaved with the short starts of questioning gladness. She 
snatched her hand from Granny Lovett’s waist, and, bending, clasped 
that of Hedge in both her own. 

‘‘ Air you glad. Berry ?” Hedge asked, looking at her with aston- 
ishment. 

The girl’s color seemed to riot in the joy of its many playing- 
places, and to settle in a flood that crowded confession to the fore. 
Her chin gave the quick movement that bites off an emphatic ‘‘ Yes,” 
as she looked Hedge in the eyes and nodded the word beyond a 
doubt. 

Well, I never !” he exclaimed, his voice and features loosing the 
puzzle in his thought. It did not occur to him that this gush of hap- 
piness and gratitude sprang from knowledge of his bravery for her 
and loving guardianship. It rankled somewhat with his own good 
nature that Berry should rejoice in the living of her murderous lover 
and his own foe. Even the fire of jealousy lashed the thought : Kin 
she care fer Corner?” Then suspicion stung him. Peggy Byrne’s 
words, I b’lieve she’s done the same thing with Corner Lovett, an’ 
he wuz jalous,” sent the subtle venom deeper. I don’t see nothin’ 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


43 


to be glad about; but I reckon you hev reasons fer it thet Corner 
knows/^ he blurted out, savagely, loosing his hold from Berry^s grasp. 

Poor Berry ! She struggled with speech, and tears, and contradicting 
gestures, that might mean ^^yes’^ or ‘^no’^ or knotted mixture of the 
two. Granny, whose love was of the kind that knows no cloaking 
custody, forgot her well-laid plans (through love for Berry, and the 
open door of fright) to keep Hedge on the anxious bench of doubt, 
and went at once to her assistance. 

“ Now doift git big-head. Hedge. You ought to know better than 
to say sich things ez that to Berry. She hez no dealings with sich ez 
Corner, an’ you knows it. She’s glad ’cause you’ve been good a-watchin’ 
an’ takin’ keer uv — iiv me.” Granny’s color came back as the mis- 
chief of the intended ending to her sentence struck her, and the quick 
recognition of Iiow narrow an escape she had made from giving Hedge 
much-needed consolation. 

that it. Berry?” he asked, belittling by his humiliated look 
any meek-faced sheep that might have been called on for comparison. 

Berry smiled, and bobbed a settling yes,” although it did not show 
her meaning. 

Hedge rebounded from his perplexity like a ball from muddy 
ground. ‘^That hain’t nothin’,” he said, gravely, ‘^to what’s to come. 
Corner’s hidin’ somewhere, an’ watchin’. He’s stealin’ to keep him- 
self goin’. He darsn’t show himself. Pie’s got to be watched ag’inst 
by them thet’s cutersomer than himself. An’ he’s got to be unkivered. 
Abner Byrne is the man : he’d unkiver a feller ef you showed him one 
uv his winks. He unkivered me once, when he lied nothin’ fer to 
guide him but two holes an’ a kiss. I’ll tell you ’bout it some day. 
Berry.” 

Great nations! thet’s it. Hedge, thet’s it. Corner’s livin’ an’ 
stealin’, an’ layin’ things up. He’s not a-layin’ his treasures up in 
heaven ; ’cause he knows he’ll never git thar to git ’em. He’s a-layin’ 
em up somewhar else. Thet’s jist p’intedly it. Hit wuz him thet 
stole ray bakin’ uv bread, an’ a ham, an’ — an’ I’ll see how many eggs, 
an’ what all. Great nations. Berry ! he’s alive, an’ thar’s nobody in 
my cabin, an’ all the pies on the dresser. Let’s go home. Berry. 
Come along. Hedge ; hit’s nigh sundown. You kin quit arly fer once, 
an’ we’ll eat supper at home. Poor Corner ! I wonder where he’ll git 
hissen.” 

‘‘I can’t go yit a bit, granny. I’ll come along arter you. I hev 
to take off a settin’ hen, an’ coob her up frum the varmints: the’re 
plenty hereabouts.” 

Well, I’ll go on. Hedge, slow-like; fer I’m gittin’ short-winded 
an’ pufferty. You kin fetch Berry. Sufficient fer the day is what you 
kin git : you kin fetch Berry.” 

As Granny said this, she looked quizzically at the young couple for 
a sign of remonstrance. But Berry was very busy tucking in the re- 
calcitrant paper over the contents of her hat; and Hedge was looking 
up intently upon something in as clear a bit of sky as ever wore de- 
serted blue. Feeling that they should have ample time and uninter- 
rupted discourse in order to reach a decision on matter so important. 


44 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


off Granny went, with her sun-bonnet set straight for the stepping- 
stones at Fighting Rock Ford, its ample sideboards giving good surety 
to any suspicious people against all back or sidelong glances. 


CHAPTER IV. 

Peggy Byrne had often gazed long and lovingly up the mountain- 
side, as the sun went down, for a sight of Hedge Harner swinging 
down the path ; but she saw him not. Often when the dogs barked 
and the guineas rattled she went to the cabin door and stood against 
the firelight, that Hedge might see her waiting for him, or, later, leaned 
upon the rickety gate and peered into the darkness with cheeks aglow 
and soft voice set to greet him lovingly ; but he never came. To many 
a dreary sigh had old Spank listened, as he stood by her side wondering 
why she stayed so long and swung the gate so wearily. Again and 
again she said to herself, I didn’t mean nothin’ ag’in’ Hedge, ner 
Berry neither. I wuz mad, like I git so quick. I might hev knowed 
Hedge wuz only foolin’; fer he keers fer me, I don’t keer what they 
say. An’ I — I feel so lone without him, cornin’ so cheery an’ lovin’. 
I’d give a sight to hear his ^ Whoop-ee !’ ag’in. He hedn’t no supper, 
nuther ; that’s the wust of it. I told him to take his hat, an’ he hedn’t 
hed no supper.” 

Abner Byrne stayed every jovial wrinkle when the fire laughed at 
him, to suit his sober thoughts, and often looked askance at Peggy with 
eyes that told remorseful pity. It was not hard for him to trail her 
thoughts and settle where they rested : then would he shake his head 
and tell the fire, I oughtn’t to hev done it.” 

This particular evening, something moi'e than usual drew Peggy 
toward Hedge. She had patted old Spank beyond her wont, and 
lingered longer over the back of her father’s chair, as she parted his 
bushy hair into side-rows of most prodigious puffiness. She had boxed 
a youngster’s ears because it would not let her sit in peace to think, 
and cuddled another in her lap to keep her company with its prattle. 
Her very form seemed soft, and round, and yielding to some courting 
thought within. Finally, she stood behind her father’s chair again, its 
high back a resting-place, and one hand straying to his wrinkled cheek. 

I b’lieve I’ll go take a leetle walk, pop; over the divide toward 
Fightin’ Rocks. Hedge’ll be cornin’ frum the P’int to Granny Lov- 
ett’s ; an’ — an’ I want to see him.” 

Abner’s eyes danced to the fire, as they had not for many a day. 
Reaching up, he pressed the hand of his daughter close to his cheek. 
‘‘ Thet’s right. Peg. Go make it up. I’m worritin’ about it. I 
hedn’t ought to hev done it. Your mother ’ud hev told you to hev 
done that long ago, ef she’d hev been livin’; but hit ’peared like I 
never could say that to you. Your marm was alius fer rnakin’ it up 
with me; an’ many’s the time I’ve wondered at her, fer I tried her 
sore, chance times. I wuzn’t ez innercent ez Hedge. Go make it up, 
Peggy. I hedn’t oughter hev done it.” 

She took her hat down from off a hook, looked at her rosy face in 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS^. 45 

the hanging mirror, then left the cabin with buoyant step, to mount 
the trail. Old Spank followed after her. 

Where Hedge had stood that eventful night, upon the summit of 
the divide, with some of his heart-strings tangled in with Peggy^s and 
others tugging to where Berry lay, Peggy did not falter. Her love 
was whole, complete, and knew but one strong anchorage. 

The trail’s nigh growed shet sence Hedge come ’long it,” she said, 
as she parted the bushes to take the leaf- veiled path to Fighting Pocks. 

Hit’s been so long. He’ll keep it open better when we make it up 
atween us. I’m glad I’m goin’. I oughtn’t to have worrited him so 
long, ner worrited myself nuther. I hed big-head fer a little while. 
We’ll make it up. I’m glad I’m goin’.” Her dark eyes told the truth 
as well as her words. Her eager face, her hurried step, her little im- 
patient thrusts at barring twigs and kicks at tangled creepers, were 
willing witnesses to her love, as down the mountain-side she went to 
where the creviced trail had hidden opening on to Fighting Rocks. 
There she stood quite screened in leafy ambuscade, listening for every 
sound, watching for every sign of an approach along the trail from 
Fighting Point, ready to leap, with love in every muscle, every heart- 
throb filling parted lips with kisses, and with tingling arms for warm 
embrace. 

In front of her, but a few feet from where she stood, the narrow 
trail came around a sharp jut upon the glowering face of Fighting 
Rocks. Back of her, in the living clasp of a single tree, which 
wrapped its roots about it like the arms of a monstrous octopus, was a 
loosened boulder breaking the way at sudden angle, to turn the path to 
the back of it for safer foothold. 

Between the two points the trail was straight ; below was the battle- 
ground of Fighting Rocks. 

A flock of frightened swallows darted across the chasm : some one 
was coming. Peggy could hear her heart drumming in the little 
crevice walled about her, and feel the hot blood deluging her cheeks. 

Behind the gnarled and twisted tree, bloated as if already gorged 
with its stony prey, crouched Corner Lovett, whitening from the inflow 
to his fiery hate and love and jealousy, his huge form dwarfed to hold 
it hideously, and his face a registering index to every passion. He, 
too, saw the swallows fly and heard the coming steps. He grasped the 
long handle of his fishing-spear with practised hold, and raised its 
barbed point for deadly cast as he himself stood firm and balanced 
and nerved for murderous work. 

But only Granny Lovett came; and as she passed w^here hellish 
brain-foam was boiling, she uttered aloud the jubilant words, My 
oxen an’ my fatlin’s is killed ; come unto the weddin’.” 

The swallows darted to their homes again. A weary look came 
over Peggy’s face, soon to make way for smiling hope. 

Corner Lovett lowered his spear and trembled as he unnerved him- 
self, Suddenly a shadow fell on all about, and lightning bowled its 
thunder-balls among the mountain-tops to set them jarring as they 
rolled. A storm was coming. To those who waited, the time seemed 
like a night. 


46 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


A clear ^yhoop-ee sounded above the grumbling crags to 
swerve a fish-hawk from its course; then a laugh, and then a cheery 
voic*e in single converse speaking. Peggy knew it well, and so did 
Corner Lovett. Hedge Harner came around the jut, and paused upon 
the straitened way, as if to wait for some one following. 

With all that joy, and love, and hope, could grow in eagerness, 
Peggy sprung from her hiding-place and threw her arras around his 
neck. 

There was a swish, as of a passing bird, and the sharp rattle of 
a wooden shaft against the rock’s bare side. Without a sound, her 
head drooped upon Hedge’s breast; then, as he, wondering, clasped her 
in his arms from falling, she raised her face to his, and faintly said, I 
come to make it up with you.” 

Her weight grew heavier ; and as Hedge held her close, he saw that 
a fishing-spear had pierced her back and carried with it Death’s grim 
victory. He raised her, kissed her, called her Peggy, sweetheart, 
darling;” but if the loving words were ever heard, they were as sweet 
parting sounds to cheer her spirit on its way. 

Horrified, grief-stricken, dazed. Hedge called wildly, Berry ! 
Berry !” 

She stood at the jagged turn in the pathway, like a statue whose 
pose and features lived in fixed despair, whose heart was dead as stone. 
In utter hopelessness, she lifted her eyes from the tragic play of love 
before her, ignorant of its course or ending, seeing only her heart’s 
wish gone forever ; and as she raised them in piteous appeal to Heaven, 
the form of Corner Lovett stood confronting her beside the tree, staring 
like a demon at his awful work. Whether fearing some unseen power 
would rise against him for this his second bloody crime, or maddened 
that the spear, too quickly sped for checking, had found a shield on 
Hedge’s heart, or whether bent on further villany, he was tearing up a 
stone by powerful lifts from among the roots’ tight lacings. 

Even with Berry’s agony, love held its sway. She saw the coming 
danger to Hedge; the sight nerved her. In a sudden effort for his 
rescue her vocal cords were shocked to action ; her long-stilled voice 
returned ; she fairly screamed the warning words, Look out. Hedge ! 
Look out ! there’s Corner Lovett.” 

Hedge, still holding Peggy in his arras, was cramped in every sensi- 
bility. One end of the long shaft was on the ground, and the other 
held its deadly hold with barbed tenacity. Berry’s cry roused him. 
Old Spank was barking furiously at the figure on the rock. Hedge 
saw at once that Corner from his vantage-ground was safe, while he 
was helpless, unless he had the spear. Yet he would not touch it ; 
knowing that Peggy was dead, he could not bear to tear it from her. 

Git behind the p’int. Berry, quick, an’ stay there,” he commanded. 
Without a thought of who might hear it, he gave the mountaineer’s 
call for help. 

Berry did not heed his warning. With ashy face, her blue eyes 
flashing purpose, she quickly swung around Hedge, to stand before him 
on the trail ; although an inch less foothold would have hurled her, 
mangled, torn, and dying, beneath the feet of Fighting Rocks. 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


47 


won^t git there/^ she said, with stout intensity; goin’ to 

stall’ right yere afore you. Corner kin kill me ef he wants to. He 
shan’t tech you on ’count uv me. I’m no account ; I’m killed a’ ready.” 

Then for the first time she saw the shaft and traced its deadly 
burial. The sight sped into her brain the thought that Peggy was 
there to save Hedge from his lurking enemy; the stopped harpoon 
showed that she had saved him. She would save Peggy if she could, 
and Hedge at all risks. Seizing the spear-handle, she raised it from 
its leverage, placed her hand against Peggy’s back, and pulled. It did 
not move. She seized it with both hands and pulled again. It loos- 
ened its hold so suddenly that she staggered backward to the stony 
verge, toppled. A strong arm caught her and drew her from her death. 
She did not turn to look upon her captor. A hot breath was on her 
neck, and the clasp was crushing. She thought that it could be no 
other than Corner Lovett; but, never faltering in her design to be as 
true and brave as Peggy in trying to save Hedge from him, she cried, 
^^Take her behind the p’int. Hedge. Yere’s the fish in’-spear. You 
kin throw it ez true ez Corner kin. Don’t mind me. I’ll keep him 
yere till you come back.” 

With her free hand. Berry placed the steel harpoon upon the path 
and tossed the end of it over to Hedge, against whom it fell, as he 
carried Peggy backward to lay her beyond the point, and then re- 
bounded to catch on a cluster of laurel growing from strong root-hold. 
With face set hard in determination, and form stiffened for an effort, 
she braced herself across the narrow way. The steady clasp of her 
captor changed into a vigorous shake commanding her attention. 

What’s the matter here?” asked a stern voice, sharpened by anx- 
iety and quickened by short breathing. I heerd you yell. What’s 
the matter ? What’s the matter with Peg ? Has Hedge harmed her ?” 

What joy to Berry ! It was the voice of Abner Byrne. Quick 
as the lightning which at that instant stabbed the angry clouds with 
molten spear, she twisted in his hold to partly face him. Turn quick, 
Abner,” she exclaimed. Corner’s behind you with a rock. He’s 
killed Peggy, an’ he wants to kill Hedge.” 

Abner Byrne’s arm closed again upon her, like the hawser from a 
lurching vessel upon its moorings. His words came quickly, coarsely 
mixed with all emotions : Peggy killed? Killed my Peggy ? Corner 
killed her? Corner’s drownded. You’re lyin’ to save Hedge. He’s 
killed her himself, an’ you had a hand in it. I seed you hev the 
fishin’-spear, an’ you give it to Hedge, an’ telled him to throw it at me. 
You’ve killed my Peggy atween you ; an’ her come to make it up with 
Hedge. I’m minded to fling you down Fightin’ Rocks, an’ I’ll fling 
Hedge arter you.” 

Abner’s face was terrible in its anger-ridden grief. He lifted the 
fearless girl from her feet and held her over the rocky edge of the trail. 
Something in Berry’s expression restrained him from letting her drop 
into the wild chasm below. Her eyes were not upon him ; she was 
looking at something behind him, with an alert, absorbing watchful- 
ness that showed him she did not hear his words or fear his threatened 
action. 


48 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


Look out, Hedge ! he’s goin’ to throw ! Git ahind the p’int !” 
she screamed, in the agony of dread for him alone. 

The old hunter turned instinctively. He saw Corner Lovett stand- 
ing upon a root humped over the imprisoned rock, his long, strong 
arms above his head, swinging for a powerful hurl of the stone in which 
his clutching fingers seemed to sink. Every feature and muscle was 
goaded into knots by strength and passion. His strained eyes were 
fixed upon the jut of rock behind wdiich Hedge had taken Peggy. 
Abner Byrne divined his aim and purpose at once; then the truth 
of what Berry had told him overcame all else. Hedge Harner was 
coming rapidly around the angle. Back, Hedge !” he yelled. Go 
back, er you’ll be rocked.” He threw his weight upon Berry, and 
forced her down upon the pathway, out of the way of the missile, and, 
crawling over her, reached forward for the spear. He clutched it, 
raised it from its rest, and drew it toward him. He was not one 
second too soon. The flying stone struck the stout ash handle and 
shattered the end of it. That, and that alone, saved Hedge Harner. 
The stone went on, grazing him as it flew, to fall with crashing violence 
amid the ravine’s bristling armament. 

The sound was a signal to the old hunter: the danger from the 
stone was over. He had sent his knife home, when cracking ribs and 
deep-sinking claws told him that death was near, when in a bear’s 
embrace; and many a time the salmon’s glisten and blue pike’s swirl 
were the only guides at which to cast his fishing-spear with never- 
failing aim : so the rapid bunching of events had not unhinged his 
wits, unnerved his arm, or scattered that keen sense grasping all going 
on about him. He balanced the broken weapon in his hand, as he 
quickly rose, and, turning, hurled it unerringly at Corner Lovett, 
before the echoes of the dashing stone had finished telling that the 
murderer’s throw had missed its hateful purpose. 

The misshapen trunk of the dwarfed giant reeled from the har- 
poon’s shock. He pulled the weapon from where it had struck in his 
prow-like breast, and hurled it savagely at Hedge. But pain and rage 
outweighed his skill. It, too, clattered down to join tree-shafts and 
rocks, that spread the battle-ground of Fighting Rocks. 

Damn you !” he roared, I’ll have you yit, whar nothin’ but devils 
can git atween us. I’ll take you to hell with me.” 

He staggered over the clutching roots and scrambled down by them 
into the walled trail that lay between the encircled rock and the rough 
face of the greater one beside it. Old Spank — a reasoning brute — 
knew him for an enemy, and darted upon him before he had reached 
his foothold. Corner seized him by the neck, tore out his hold, and 
flung him howling on the trail behind him. Abner Byrne, with 
vengeance setting every line of him, was clambering up the passage ; 
and back of him was Hedge, no less determined on avengement. 

Corner saw that he must fight Abner before he could reach his 
hated rival. He knew well the toughness of the old hunter’s sinews: 
he felt that his own strength was powerless to grapple with them both. 
With an oath, he turned and fled to where the gigantic fragments in 
Big Head Fork befriended him with gap, and turn, and shadow, until 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 49 

at last he made a plunge, and sank beneath the swirl of waters in the 
Devil’s Pot. 

Few as were the moments in which this tragic drama was played 
on Fighting Rock, the storm had meanwhile rolled over the mountain- 
crests, and now blackened ravine, rock, and sky, with blackness made 
the blacker by lightning slashes on its density. The wind hissed and 
moaned through the forest, snapped limbs, and wrestled old competitors 
to their final fall. It beat the leaves to frantic whirls, and lashed the 
waters of jolly Big Head even unto madness. Hail pelted and rain 
poured, with spiteful slant and cutting acrimony. It was one of those 
narrow, wedging storms, twin to a tornado. 

Abner Byrne and Hedge stood upon a boulder’s crown, halted by 
the elements. A little further on, old Spank was howling dismally. 
Abner seized Hedge by the arm and halloed in his ear, ‘^Git back to 
the girls, ef you kin. Keer fer Peggy; keer fer Peggy; maybe she’s 
livin’ yit. She came to make it up with you. I follered her, worritin’, 
thinkin’ maybe I could help, er take her hum, ef she wuz sore uv 
heart. I heerd you yell. Go keer fer Peggy. I’m goin’ to stay 
yere. I’ll not leave his trail till I knife him. Him an’ me fer it. Go 
keer fer Peggy; I hain’t needin’ you.” Then, seeing that Hedge 
hesitated, he added, with savage decision, Go, er I’ll fling you in the 
branch. Him an’ me fer it.” 

Hedge buffeted against the storm back to the spot where Peggy lay. 
As he groped and leaped, stumbled and ran, where lightning showed 
the way, his thoughts benumbed one another by rapid shock or love’s 
embittered contest. 

Under shelter of the point. Berry was sheltering Peggy from the 
storm. She, too, had thoughts that crossed and snarled and tangled, 
in hopeless misery. She wept in silence over the dead companion, 
with every sense alert for sound of Hedge. She pictured again and 
again the love-scene she had witnessed at the death, and then another, 
as she and Hedge had cooped the hen but now at Fighting Point. 
She heard him saying, in voice as tender as had uttered sweetheart” 
to dead Peggy’s ear, I wish hit wuz you. Berry, thet I wuz feedin’ 
an’ coobin’ fer the night, ’stead uv the ole hen.” 

She could not untangle the snarl : so she sat, and wept, and listened. 
She heard Hedge calling her, and she answered, feeling her voice 
throttled by the storm. A flash lit up the rocks, as Hedge knelt down 
beside her. 

‘‘Hev you took notice uv any sign uv livin’. Berry?” he asked, 
anxiously. 

Hez anything happened to you. Hedge? Wuz you hurt any?” 
was her equally anxious questioning. 

No,” he answered. ‘‘ Is she — is Peggy livin’ ?” 

She’s dead. Hedge. Oh, Hedge ! I’m so grieved ; but I’m so 
glad it hain’t you. She saved your life, Hedge.” 

I know it. Berry. I know it. She stood atween me an’ Corner ; 
but she never knowed it. Berry; she never knowed it. She come to 
make it up with me. She wuz worritin’ about tellin’ me to take my hat. 
Them wuz the last words she said ; ^ I’ve come to make it up with you.’ ” 

VoL. LV.— 4 


50 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


The sad memory overcame Hedge entirely. He forgot everything 
save his Peggy and his grief ; forgot even that she could not hear his 
loving wail. Speaking as if to her alone, he knew no check upon his 
honest candor; just as he thought and felt he spoke. ‘‘ Oh, my God ! 
I wish it wuz me thet hed stood at\veen him an’ you, Peggy. I’d 
never hev hollered no more nor you did. Your leetle arms wuz 
around my neck, an’ him strikin’ you dead. I’d hev made it up with 
you, Peggy; indeed I would. Berry wuz my leetle sweetheart once, 
— ever sence she wore shifts; an’ I wuz kissin’ her at the spring, 
funnin’-like, when Corner shot me. I didn’t mean nothin’, nohow ; 
an’ he shot her too. An’ then she tried to kiss me back ag’in, — dyin’. 
An’ she’s been good, an’ lovin’, an’ comfortin’ ; an’ I keers for her 
more’ll — more’n a sight; she tried to kiss me back ag’in, — dyin’. But 
I’d hev made it up with you, Peggy, indeed I would. An’ now 
you’re gone from me, — dead ! Ther’s nobody keers fer me now.” 

There was utter desolation in his voice as he said, Ther’s nobody 
keers fer me now.” His strong form was shaken by sobs, as he held 
his hat over Peggy’s feet to screen them from the storm, and took the 
force of it himself as he sheltered her. A living hand, trembling as 
his own, felt its way into his; and a voice, sad as his own, said, Yes, 
there is. Hedge; I keers fer you.” 

Already Big Head was a roaring torrent. The steep mountain- 
sides caught the rainfall, to pour it down by gulch and crevice from 
off their impenetrable solidity. The muddy waters boiled and tossed 
and charged against the boulders recklessly. Foot by foot, in rapid 
rising, the flood- climbed upward. On top of a rock at the seething 
swirl, the Devil’s Pot, Abner Byrne stood listening ; and as the light- 
ning flashed, he cursed the logs that leaped and tossed and swam to 
fool him with their mimicry of men escaping. Spank clawed and 
barked close by him. Shut up, you fool,” said Abner ; hit’s nothin’ 
but a mus’-rat seekin’ shelter.” 

But Spank still barked and howled in anger. Abner went to him 
and held him from the spot toward which Spank had such enmity, to 
choke him into silence. The dog struggled fiercely to get back. Hit 
must be somethin’ more’n common,” muttered Abner, as he loosed 
the dog to do his will. I never seed him act this way afore. Seek 
him out. Spank !” 

The wind sucked into the ravine, and almost blew the old hunter 
from the rock. Splashes of dashing water struck him staggering blows. 
He crouched beside the dog to shield himself. 

Groans and curses, yells and shrieks, outdoing the storm in mad- 
ness, came as if shouted through a trumpet close to his ear. It was 
Corner Lovett’s voice. 

A gush of air struck the old hunter’s hand, as he groped toward 
whence it came. In his other hand, the lightning glinted from his 
hunting-knife, gripped for killing lunge. By the vivid glare, he saw 
a funnel-shaped hole scooped in the rock, and felt the air come rushing 
from it; he heard that with it came the sounds of one in hellish 
torment. 

At first he was dumfounded ; but memory — that stereopticon of the 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


51 


past — flashed a long-storied picture on his mental screen. For an 
instant he, long ago, was netting fish from the black swirl below him, 
at that time isolated from all the stream by summer’s drought, save by 
a trickle that sparkled over a bed of stones lying beneath the huge 
boulder on which he now stood. Here was a haunt for crawfish. 
Wading along a submerged edge, he found the runway large enough 
to crawl in, and opening from its roof was entrance to a pocket hol- 
lowing half the rock. When Fighting Rocks had hurled this boulder 
to its resting-place, its caved face had fallen downward. Standing 
erect, he raised himself through the hole and into quite a roomy 
chamber. With the picture the present situation of Corner Lovett 
came to him with its awful truth : he had dived into the passage-way 
through the water (which at ordinary times covered the cave’s entrance 
but a little) and emerged in the upper chamber; and now the waters 
of Big Head, suddenly risen, and far above their wildest level, were 
crowding him in his den, forcing him to his death. 

There was but one other opening to the chamber, and that was 
where old Spank was screaming his wrath, and whence Corner Lovett’s 
bellowing groans and curses were issuing. 

Abner Byrne was barred from swift-handed vengeance. Though 
within a few feet of the howling murderer, he was powerless to strike 
a blow or give him one look of blasting abhorrence. He threw him- 
self flat upon the rock, with his mouth to the hole, and above the 
storm’s roar shouted back his curses, taunted him with his helplessness, 
derided him for his failures, scourged him with bitter words, lashed 
him with his crimes, told him of his hell-born jealousy and of the 
triumph of his rival, of the grief he had laid with murderous hand 
upon his old heart; and nowand again, as desperation unmanned him, 
he stabbed in the gaping orifice and gave his knife a twist, as if to 
make death surer in the demon’s drowning agonies. 

Without, the storm fought Fighting Rocks with all its weapons. 
Within the cave. Corner Lovett heard but the voice of Abner Byrne. 
Floating on the swelling waters, coming nearer and surely nearer to 
the roof, wounded, exhausted by his efforts, getting no hold upon the 
smooth interior, the words of Abner boomed on him like the doom of 
judgment. He dared not cry for help ; he dared not pray for mercy. 
The water rising, still rising, the little hole was his only breathing- 
place ; yet he thrust his arm in it to stop the accusing words. 

Abner Byrne seized the protruding hand with his. Their hands 
closed on each other like clamped jaws, and held with crushing grip. 
The torrent dashed over the boulder ; the Devil’s Pot was full to the 
level ; and thus, like a trapped rat. Corner Lovett died. 


CHAPTER V. 

The rain ceased to fall, but the wind snarled among the crags. 
Trees crashed on their summits; rocks, loosened by the heavy wash, 
flew with leap and bound over the ravine, to scar its walls with bruise 
and gash ; the earth trembled with anger at the lightning’s taunts and 


52 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


thunder’s growling; Fighting Rocks were at war again. Big Head 
lashed and surged between them, shook its plumes of foam, and, pass- 
ing, roared an angry protest. 

On its chambered boulder lay Abner Byrne, stretched half senseless, 
gripping the dead man’s hand. Old Spank stood over him, howling 
dismally. For an instant the battle ceased, and in the awful silence 
the dog’s wail reached Hedge Hamer’s ear, where he and Berry shielded 
Peggy’s body with their living forms. Hedge started at the sound. 

Ther’s somethin’ the matter with Abner, Berry ; his dog’s a-howlin’, 
I must go help him. Maybe he’s found Corner. Stay yere with Peggy 
till I come back, — ef I ever come,” he added, with a sob, as he daslied 
away. 

His wild shouts to Abner, that help was coming, echoed like un- 
earthly call? to which the thunder-claps gave answer. Creeping, stum- 
bling, running, he reached the point on the trail near where he had last 
seen him. No answer came to his wildest yells. When the light- 
ning flashed its torch above the ravine, he saw nothing but a seething 
rush of water. The boulders were covered. Old Spank still howled. 
Once Hedge saw him standing half buried in the boiling stream. He 
knew that the dog had foothold ; that, happen what might, he would 
not leave his master ; Abner was somewhere in the Devil’s Pot, perhaps 
with Corner. His anger rose at the thought. A devilish thirst for 
Corner’s blood grew in him. If Abner was living, he should not deal 
Corner his death-blow; if Corner had killed Abner, it was for him, 
Hedge, to follow and hunt him down. He must reach Abner. Then 
wild thoughts, rapid as his heart-beats, shook his reason, and left his 
paasion master. 

No human being could cross the torrent or stem such mighty flow. 

I’m comin,’ Abner, I’m cornin’,” he shouted. I’ll do it ef I drown 
fer it,” he muttered between his teeth. 

Regardless of falls, of cut and bruise against the jagged rocks, he 
ran back on the trail, rounded the corner where Peggy was, leaped over 
her body as it lay in his path, and, like a demon of the night, flew 
down the footway until he reached the water’s spread above the ravine 
where the level at the ford gave it ample runway. Without a pause 
he threw himself into the stream, and swam with vigorous strokes to 
its very centre. 

The current seized him. Off and away he went, tossed, whirled, 
rolled, to be drawui through the gorge where Fighting Rocks wedged 
up the water to its greatest height; battling the torrent while he 
drifted, as if for life, to reach the other shore ; nothing to guide him in 
the blackness of the night but the current’s pressure as he swam against 
it, and blinding flashes telling more of death than sought-for haven. 
On he went. He felt the speed increasing madly and more tumultuous 
boil beneath him. He saw about him logs and drift leaping as gro- 
tesque companions. There they floated by his side ; he dared not touch 
a stick, lest it steer him from his course, or, wdiirling, entangle him 
beyond all hope among the grinding mass. 

It was well for Hedge Harner that his thews were young and prac- 
tised ; that his lungs were sound and spread by mountain-climb or stalk 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


53 


for game; that his head was clear and his purpose never faltering. 
Had these things not been so, the dumb logs would have outrivalled 
him, and, while they floated on, he would a hundred times have sunk, 
to be forever more dumb than they. 

Faster and faster. About him a deafening roar. On either side 
the caves hummed as the eddies spun within them, and the pillared 
rocks groaned as the waves scourged them. He was in the gorge now ; 
the sounds told him that. He looked up as the sky lighted with a 
flash; Fighting Rocks seemed towering miles above him. A leafed 
branch struck his face. At the touch he grasped it. From his weight 
and impetus, it quickly swung to dash him cruelly against the creviced 
rocks from which it grew. Hedge knew that the other side of the 
water was gained. With arms almost torn from their sockets, he held 
fast to the branch, and while he held he rested. 

Every foot of the rocks was known to Hedge. He soon deter- 
mined his exact position. To further help him, he faintly heard, not 
far below, old Spank still howling. He must not loiter there. He 
had gained his point ; the rest was easy now. If he could keep him- 
self from being dashed against the rocky side, he had but to drop with 
the current until he passed between it and the boulder ; then the swirl 
in the DeviFs Pot would catch him, and he could reach the rock where 
old Spank stood. 

He loosened his hold. Again the current swiftly bore him, feet 
foremost, with fearful rapidity. With every sense of touch alert, he 
kept clear of jutting rocks and cutting angles. At last he felt himself 
whirled as if upon a gigantic millstone: he was in the swirl, he was 
riding the mad waters of the DeviFs Pot. He struggled fiercely to 
reach its rim, round and round, time after time, the maelstrom drawing 
him to its centre, each desperate stroke fighting its power. Then came 
a sudden shock ; his body bounded out of the water from the force, to 
fall, bruised and bleeding, across the body of Abner Byrne, lying in 
the swash of angry waves upon the bouldePs summit. 

For a moment Hedge lay stunned, panting, half unconscious. Old 
Spank licked his face and ceased his howls to utter joyful barks. Hedge 
quickly recovered his senses, but not so quickly were his bruised limbs 
brought to action. He felt along the body beneath him, until its lines 
told him it was Abner Byrne. He put his hand upon his face ; against 
its icy coldness he felt a flow of warmth : it was blood. Great God 
he muttered, horror-stricken ; hez Corner killed him 

Tottering to his feet, fearing that he might slip, or in the inky 
blackness step backward into the swirl, Hedge tried to raise the pros- 
trate form. It clung to the rock immovably. Abner,^^ he shouted, 
‘^air you dead? Hez Corner killed you? Tell me, where is he? Is 
he livin^ 

A groan from Abner was his only answer ; but the dreary sound 
was welcome. 

Abner, he shouted in his ear, iFs me. IFs me ; it’s Hedge. 
Come to ! come to ! I’m yere to help you. Come to.” Hedge shook 
him roughly : ‘^Come to, Abner. Where’s Corner?” 

A passing log had reared its end above the rock as the current 


54 


THE OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


tossed it, and, lowering, knocked Abner senseless as it fell. The name 
of Corner roused him. Hunter-like, his first thought was of his prey. 
For an instant his anger barred his words; then out they broke. I 
hev him, the varmint ! I hev him ! I held him fast till he drownded, 
— drownded like a rat in a hole. I hev his death-grip, arf Vl\ hold 
on to all eternity. Jab down the hole with somethiif. Hedge : maybe 
he hain’t dead yit.^^ 

The black body of the storm rolled away with mutterings deep 
and vengeful. As it went, the stars looked gladly down to earth once 
more. By their faint light. Hedge saw what stirred his brain to 
wonder. He had thought Abner raving ; but now he saw what seemed 
to him a miracle, — Abner’s arm was buried in the solid rock. 

With all his might he seized him around the chest, and, setting 
every muscle to the task, he pulled. But Abner stirred not. He 
pulled again; still, to his astonishment, the rock held fast. ‘‘Let go. 
Let go, 1 say,” growled Abner, as might a dog drawn backward from 
a bone. “ I hev him, an’ I’ll hold him. He’s mine. Let go, I say.” 
In vain he cursed and raved. What held him was a mystery to 
Hedge. How could he know the secret of the rock, or picture the 
hideous grip that held the living to the dead ? At last he tore him 
loose. 

The old hunter’s wrath was as that of a devil. He grappled Hedge 
as a bear would seize its victim. Nothing but Hedge’s youth and 
vigor saved him from being hurled to war again with the rabid torrent. 
During the desperate struggle, nothing but his quick eye and solid 
footing saved Abner from the treacherous edge that would have 
launched them both to death. Exhausted, blown, with reason edging 
into Abner’s mind, they sank upon the rock. There, when calmer 
moments came, Abner told Hedge of the horrid death beneath them. 

The two were prisoners. Until the water fell, no one could leave 
the rock and live. The story told, they sat in awe-struck silence, 
about them the rush and roar, beneath them the dead. 

Up on the trail, a lone watcher sat sobbing and waiting, now eying 
the whitened face of Peggy Byrne upturned to the starlight’s pallor, 
now listening in the agony of fear, now trembling at a sound. She 
had seen Hedge dart past her, his errand unknown : she had nothing 
to do but sit by the dead and wait. 


CHAPTER VI. 

Granny Lovett was so overjoyed and filled with exhilarating 
visions of “ oxen an’ fatlin’s, an’ cornin’ unto the weddin’,” that, though 
the first heavy water pellets of the storm struck her as she entered her 
cabin yard, she halted in her hurried walk to bow to an imaginary 
partner, pick up her skirts, and execute upon the sanded walk a “cut 
of the pigeon-wing” as lightly as if rocking babies had not turned her 
toes or years put weights upon her heels. Her exuberance was but 
fairly started to its outlet in dance, when a rich, merry voice brought 
her to a sudden stand-still and fixed her in puffing astonishment. 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


55 


Well done, old lady ! I used to do that myself. Come in out 
of the rain, and we’ll finish the dance on the cabin floor. You see I 
have taken possession.” 

The speaker was a man of fine physique. His uncovered head 
touched the lintel of the cabin door, and his well-knit form commanded 
its entrance. He was fifty or thereabouts, — the maturing of years told 
that in his face and figure ; but no score-marks were there to tell Time’s 
tale upon him. An open, jolly, careless, handsome face it was that 
Granny Lovett stared into ; one to win confidence and make it captive 
to its power. 

With her dress still up, and leg poised for its next fling. Granny 
ejaculated, as if the force of the down-coming foot was expending 
itself in words, Great nations, stranger, how you skeered me ! I — 1 
wuzn’t dancin’ ; I wuz jist steppin’ over the wet grass.” 

‘‘ On the dry walk, granny?” he asked, with a laugh. 

Well,” answered Granny, with some confusion, and dropping her 
skirts, hit’s gittin’ dark, an’ — an’ I ” 

The ludicrousness of the situation was too much for one of her 
explosive nature. She laughed merrily : You cotched me, stranger. 
I hain’t done it fer twenty year, — cut a pigeon-wing. 1 wuz foolin’ 
like a gal ag’in, at seein’ my last pair like to git married. I don’t 
reckon you could beat me dancin’ yit, if I wuz laced up an’ felt frisky 
an’ the fiddlin’ wuz good.” 

It suddenly occurred to Granny that she had ownership in the 
cabin, and that she was outside of it talking to a man she had never 
seen before. Her dignity and hospitality asserted themselves about 
the same time. ‘‘ What air you doin’ in my cabin, stranger? Oh, I 
mind : I wuz away frum home, an’ night an’ a storm cornin’ on. 
Come in. You’re right welcome. Take a cheer.” 

The stranger laughed heartily. In an instant Granny joined him. 

I will let you in, granny. At present you are outside. Then I will 
thank you for your hospitable welcome. I was told to seek your 
home, as a good place to stay for a few days while I attend to some 
business I have on hand in this neighborhood. I arrived here a few 
moments ago, and, seeing the storm coming, I unceremoniously stabled 
my horse and took possession of your place. My name is James 
Hardy, — Major Hardy. Now I will let you in, if you promise to take 
care of me.” 

The laugh, the ease of the stranger. Granny’s love of company, the 
joy in her heart, all joined in wording her outburst: ‘^My oxen an’ 
my fatlin’s is killed ; you’re a leetle too soon ; but stay unto the wed- 
din’; ez the Seri pter says. I’ll keer fer you. Now let me in, till I 
git you a bite uv somethin’ to eat. An empty stomach is a soundin’ 
brass an’ a tinklin’ cymbal, ez the Book says.” 

Granny had hardly started the blaze from its red lair among the 
embers before the storm broke in fury about the cabin. The wind 
swept down the chimney to scatter the white ash-flakes on purposeless 
wanderings. A dazed bird flew in through the door-way, and the 
candle went out. Granny stood alarmed at these omens. A flash of 
lightning, a peal of thunder, and Granny fairly shrieked her alarm. 


56 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


^‘Stranger, bad lack’s cornin’ ! maybe death ! It’s cornin’! Look at 
the bird an’ tlie candle — them two together; — it’s death thet’s cornin’ 
to my house ! Maybe it’s Corner ! Maybe it’s Hedge! Maybe it’s 
Berry! Come ’long! Come ’long! They’re out in the storm, — 
Hedge an’ Berry ! Corner’s livin’ ! Come ’long ! Death’s coinin’ !” 
She jerked the tin lantern from its hook, hurriedly blew up a coal 
until she lighted its caudle, and, shouting, ‘‘ Come ’long !” rushed out 
into the storm. 

Major Hardy had looked death in the face on many a battle-field. 
He was not excitedly impressed by Granny’s prophecy of its approach 
now ; nor was he at any time, by omens less formidable than whistling 
balls and shrieking shells. He coolly took from his saddle-pockets a 
flask and revolver, then followed Granny, guided by the yellow speck 
of lantern-light. He soon overtook her. He could not but wonder 
what fear possessed her; for while he had heard much about her from 
the garrulous natives directing him to her cabin, he knew nothing of 
her household or its closeted skeleton. He followed simply because 
there was a woman ahead of him, alone in the night. 

Granny Lovett set her prow to the storm fearlessly as when on that 
morning, a score and more of years ago, she had set it to the fog from 
out which came the infant wail of him for whom, now, she would give 
her life. As she mounted the narrow foot-way over Fighting Rocks, 
a circled patch of light from her lantern travelled against the solid 
side, and yellow rays, wide parted by her form, were tossed from Big 
Head’s muddy crests to perish in the gloom beyond. 

The crash of drift, the groan of cavern, the roar of waters, the 
wild cry of night-birds, the unrecognized shout of Hedge, had no 
terrors for Granny : she was seeking her loved ones. 

At last the lantern’s yellow gleam fell upon the crouching form of 
Berry, and turned to gold, as if by Midas’s touch, the upturned face of 
Peggy Byrne. The chiselled lines, she knew too well, were from the 
master hand of Death. The lantern fell from her hand, and would 
have jingled down the ravine’s side, had not Major Hardy caught it. 
Even he — cool man that he was — was startled at the sight. Some 
spell came over him. ‘^Is the old woman right?” he asked himself. 

Has Death come as she said ?” 

He held the lantern close to the dead girl’s face. Its light roused 
Berry. She turned to look from whence it came; in its full rays her 
face was turned to Major Hardy. Great God !” he exclaimed, in 
dazed astonishment; Belle, you here?” 

He stooped closer, and held the lantern full before her dazzled eyes, 
then lowered it. It trembled in his hand. What folly !” he muttered. 
‘‘I saw Belle buried.” 

As if mocking him, the voice of Granny Lovett echoed, Berry, 
you here?” Granny was almost crushing Berry with weight and 
hugs. Berry,” she called, Berry, what is it? Who did it? 
There’s nothin’ the matter with you, is there, honey? Whar’s 
Hedge? How did Peggy come yere? Who killed her? Whar’s 
Corner? Berry, Berry, honey, make a sign. It’s me, — granny. Make 
a sign, honey. Major Hardy’s yere ; he’ll help.” 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS, 


57 


If the voice of the dead had sounded, Granny Lovett could not 
have been more surprised than to hear Berry speak aloud in answer. 

Corner killed her. He meant to kill Hedge, an’ killed Peggy. 
She’d come to make it up with him, an’ they wuz makin’ it up. 
Corner killed her. I wish he’d killed me.” 

No sadder moan ever lay over Big Head’s waters than Berry’s I 
wish he’d killed me.” 

Where is this murderer? Where is this Corner?” asked Major 
Hardy, in a tone that brought both women to its commanding pres- 
ence. 

don’t know,” answered Berry. Abner is after him, and 
Hedge is after Abner. They’re both gone. Hedge left me ; an’ then 
he come flyin’ back an’ left me ag’in. He told me to keer fer Peggy 
till he come back ; an’ I’m keerin’ fer her. She come to make it up 
with him.” 

As Berry stared into Major Hardy’s face, answering his question 
as would an automaton, he saw the weighting of another grief than 
that for the dead before her. Such love as he poured from his eyes, 
for an instant, would have brought the blush to any maiden’s cheek. 
He put his arm around her and raised her gently to her feet. ^‘Come,” 
he said ; take the lantern. Lead the way to the cabin ; I will follow 
you. Poor girl ! Poor girl ! Granny, you take hold of her. I will 
follow.” 

Hedge told me to stay yere an’ keer fer Peggy,” said Berry, 
firmly. 

Go with Granny, Berry. I will take care of this poor girl,” 
replied Major Hardy. He turned her lovingly on the pathway, saw 
that Granny was holding her in careful guard, and forced her quietly 
to onward steps. As they went away, he gathered the body of Peggy 
in his arms and followed. 

What a night ! What a scene ! What a tragedy ! What memo- 
ries surged his thoughts as he bore the dead girl along ! He took no 
thought of her, save that unconsciously springing toward tenderness 
for the dead. He saw himself the rollicking captain of cavalry of 
many years ago ; he saw a log-cabin girl of these same mountains, with 
a face trusting, beautiful, upturned to his own. He felt a good-by 
kiss. He thought of many a night ride, and fight, and skirmish ; of 
stolen rides to see his love ; of a young mother ; then of a wild crazy 
tale brought to him by a mountaineer of a missing baby ; of a dead 
loved one ; then ride, ride, ride to be at the burying. As the clods 
dropped on a coffin, a riderless horse stood panting ; himself stood 
sobbing by a grave : and then again a gathering of reins ; a dash with 
grief, despair, remorse, as riding squadron, to where command awaited 
him and war’s black curtain hung behind each day to bar it from the 
past. Death — so used to death in all those years, that one, even hers, 
was dimmed in his memory by the grim drapery of the carnival. 
Here in this fearful night, the face he loved away in the past turned up 
to him in the dim lantern-light on these same mountains, and shook the 
veil of his life away since that last parting, to show him her eyes again. 

Belle,” he had exclaimed, and, as if by magic touch, his heart sprang 


58 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


to loving beats, his years fell off, and he stood again beside the one he 
loved, to love again for evermore. 

When tens of thousands go down in battle to nameless graves and 
are forgotten, surely the memory of a loved one may be sodded by 
events. To Major Hardy’s memory, a Gabriel had sounded trumpet, 
and now was resurrection come. 

As he laid his lifeless burden down in Granny Lovett’s cabin, 
and turned to take Berry in his charge, that Granny might be relieved 
to do all her goodness called for, he felt the rair'ng of an old love, 
that, in a calm and holy way, hovered about the form he gathered to 
him. 

Berry was of the mobile sort. Her clay, charmingly moulded, 
responded to a touch ; and, like the flash that gave to Galatea life, 
it made tingle a responsive welcome to hand that wished it for its 
own. 

She was an innocent mountain-girl ; as nature made her, so she 
was. The closing arm of Major Hardy about her, as he took her from 
Granny Lovett, was as warm as Hedge’s when he kissed her at the 
spring, simply because in its presence was a sympathy that fed her and 
filled her with contentment. Why she laid her head on his shoulder, 
why she sat in his lap and sobbed, why she felt the comfort of it, and 
thought of Hedge, she knew no more of than you or I do of why we 
do a thousand things : she did it. Granny saw in Major Hardy’s act 
but the single purpose of kindness actuating a kind heart like her own. 
Major Hardy saw in it the outcome of some propulsive power he could 
not then resist. 


CHAPTER VII. 

Berry told her story to Major Hardy in a broken-hearted way. 
She had seen the lovers clasped in each other’s arms; she had listened 
to the story of their love ; she had heard the piteous pleading of 
Hedge that Peggy might hear him. His promise to the dead one, 
I’d hev made it up with you, Peggy, indeed I would,” had not roused 
jealousy with its supporting pain in Berry, but had shattered all hope 
in her and left her helpless, deadened by the knowledge that Hedge 
loved Peggy better than herself. She told the story as though her 
tongue was pen to her every thought and wrote with her heart’s blood. 

Major Hardy did not interrupt her with a word. He looked into 
her eyes as if listening to a tale of long ago ; such eyes as had once 
looked into his, and such a tale of love and woe as might have been 
told to him had he been where a voice so much like hers could have so 
sadly doled out a grief. Tears ran from his eyes to wet the parched 
cheeks of one too grieved to weep. 

He was lost to all about him. As Berry told her tale, his thoughts 
wandered backward along the chain of years, and so did her face and 
voice and tale impress him that he drew her closer to himself, stroked 
her hair, laid his cheek against her own ; and, with the strong eager- 
ness of a man’s full love, he cried, Forgive me. Belle ! oh, forgive 
me ! I did not mean to break your heart. I love you, my little 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


59 


mountain girl. I could not come to you ; I was not my own master ; 
I was off on a raid, fighting in the front. Look up and love me, pet.’^ 

The pole-rafters of Granny Lovett’s cabin had vibrated to many a 
laugh, and shout, and solemn teaching, but never before from her voice 
in anger raised. She stood over the conscience-stricken man like a 
summoning spirit pointing him hellward. Her hand clutched in his 
hair and hoisted his head with a powerful lift. Her words rattled 
among the clapboards of the roof. ‘‘What are you doin’? Makin’ 
love to my Berry? Sparkin’ her right afore my eyes, right where the 
dead is layin’? My Berry, heart-broken, an’ thinkin’ you wuz com- 
fortin’ her, an’ nestlin’ to you fer comfort ! Tellin’ her sich stuff ez 
that ! Tellin’ her you love her ! Axin’ her to fo’give you ! Huggin’ 
her ! Git out uv my cabin ! Take your hat an’ go ! I’ll chuck your 
saddle-pockets arter you. Git your critter ! Go ! er I’ll grate your 
sneakin’ face ag’in’ the chimbley corner. Ef you’d been a belated 
skunk, I’d hev took you in out uv the storm an’ keered fer you ; but 
you’re a livin’ sarpint. You’re an’ ornery, unyoked pig. Git up an’ 
go !” 

To be snatched from a dream by the hair brings one to a sudden 
realization of corporal responsibilities. Major Hardy was one of the 
coolest of the cool. While he hung in Granny’s angry finger-hooks, 
he did not move his arms from about Berry, who, startled, sat upright 
in his lap. As Granny rattled her indignation at him, he quietly 
turned his face and looked up at her. The light of the lantern glinted 
from his tears. No shame or love-caught sheepishness was there, but 
the gaze of a man — a noble man — stricken with sorrow, filled with 
some high purpose. 

Granny, not accustomed to maintain such sublimity of wrath, 
wilted to her home level — compassion — at the sight of his face. She 
dropped her hand to his shoulder, and asked, with kindly lean toward 
him, “ What air you cryin’ fer, stranger?” 

To be told of tears, such tears, was bracing to every bit of manli- 
ness in Major Hardy. The flush of honest candor spread over his face. 
He did not raise a hand to stir these jewels of his soul. They stood 
there, shining steadily, as vouchers for his heart and truth of tongue. 
“What am I crying for?” he repeated after Granny, while Berry 
looked wonderingly on. “ For forgiveness, — forgiveness from one I 
loved long ago, that I thought was dead. I was thinking of her. 
This girl is so like that sweet girl whom I loved. I was talking to 
the dead one, not this living one. Tell me, who is this girl?” 

“ I — I don’t know,” answered Granny, as though the words were 
ordered out of her. “ I finded her in the elderberry-bushes, down by 
Sank Roberts’s cabin, on Jordan’s Creek, nigh dead, when the elder- 
berries wuz in blossom. I named her Elderberry fer short, an’ I 
fotched her up, an’ a power of comfort she’s been to me, — a power. 
An’ my oxen an’ my fatlin’s wuz just a-goin’ to be killed, an’ people 
goin’ to be axed to the weddin’, ez the Scripter says, when trouble come 
on, — ter’ble trouble, — an’ ” 

Major Hardy interrupted her. His eyes glistened with a light far 
beyond and above the magnifying power of tear-flow. Joy and cer- 


60 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


tainty, with the piercing sparkle of inquiry, gave them brilliancy as he 
asked, Granny, did you know Belle Riley 

For a second Granny looked at him in blank wonderment ; then 
her eyes shifted to Berry’s face, where they rested until her close 
scrutiny seemed to breed an answer and dam some impulse that sent all 
its crowding energy to paint astonishment on her face. Great na- 
tions !” she blurted out; ‘‘sich a — sich a — I never wuz sich a blind- 
haltered ole mule afore in my life. Them thet hez eyes to see, let them 
see, — ef ther’s anything wuth seein’, ez the good Book says. I never ! I 

never Great nations, stranger ; why. Berry’s the very picter uv Belle 

Riley ; an’ Belle’s baby a-missin’, too ; an’ her crazy, an’ dyin’ broken- 
hearted, they say, an’ we never took notice uv it afore. Poor girl ! 
Poor girl ! Poor purty girl ! I couldn’t git to the funeral, ’cause uv a 
ragler I wuz tendin’ ’bout that time ; but I heerd say thar wuz a big 
soldier at the buryin’ that took it hard. Belle Riley wuz the lovin’est 
creetur I ever knowed, ’cept Berry. She’d hev come to good, ef she 
hedn’t uv died. The big man — high-up officer, with a captain’s marks 
on his shoulders — they tell me ’ud hev taken keer uv her, he would. 
He wouldn’t hev been thar a-takin’ on so, ef he hedn’t been a feelin’ 
man. I mind one day I wuz passin’ by where poor Belle lays buried, 
an’ I hed a han’ful of wild posies thet I wuz carryin’ to poor Millie 
Acres, — Bob’s wife, — Bob’s young widder ; an’ I rested a bit whar 
Belle wuz a-layin’. Poor, poor Belle! An’ I sez to myself like, 
‘ Yere’s a poor woman that never hed a husband to mourn fer her, ner 
no one to pity her ;’ so I ups an’ puts the posies down on her grave. 
But I gethered another bunch fer Millie.” 

Granny’s story was cut short by the muffle of a strong embrace; 
Major Hardy’s arms were about her ; and such was the suddenness of 
it that it, and his words, fixed her unspeakable for a while. 

God bless you ! God bless you ! I thank you, granny. Belle 
Riley was my wife.” 

Granny Lovett was not of the jerky sort. She was too well poised 
by habit, experience, and raatronage to be startled by an embrace. 
Many a time a new father had hugged her in his exuberance of joy ; 
often had grief-stricken men sought consolation in her ample waist and 
pillowing shoulders, wdien consolation was most wanting; and further 
be it said that when the jollity of wedding, infare, or picnic broke 
down the barriers of propriety, she was not the first one to start 
coquettishly from an irresponsible arm. The heart-felt God bless 
you !” of Major Hardy fastened her in flattering comfort, and his con- 
fession stayed her immovable. 

When she gently broke away, it was to take both of his hands 
in her own, and say, with feeling fresh from her dear old mother- 
leavened heart, ‘‘ Then you’re the big soldier that took it so hard at 
the buryin’. I alius said that you wuz a feelin’ man. I’m powerful 
glad that Belle Riley wuz a widder with a husband. She wuz alius 
the lovin’est creetur I ever seed, ’cept Berry. Berry ! Why, great 
nations. Major Hardy ! why. Berry — Berry is — yes, she’s Belle Riley 
over ag’in. I didn’t took no notice uv it afore. Why, Berry is the 
missin’ ” 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


61 


Quick as flash, Major Hardy loosened his hand from Granny Lov- 
ett’s clasp and clapped it over her mouth. Not yet, not yet,” he 
said, in a low tone. Keep quiet ; it is best. Let me take my own 
time to tell it. I feel that it is so, but this is no time for explanations. 
Promise me, in the presence of the dead ; I have good reasons.” He 
removed his hand from her mouth. Following it, drawn by the solemn 
adjuration, came Granny’s promise, I will.” 

The major turned to Berry. Where he had flung her from his lap 
to speak his gratitude to Granny, she stood as one shocked to waking 
from sleep in the sunlight; the sun was there, but the comfort of it 
was gone. A chill crept over her when she saw the major and Granny 
in close embrace. She looked away from them and into the tire flick- 
ering on the hearth. She saw again the love-scene on the trail, and 
heard the words that were burning themselves as an eternal text upon 
her brain : I’d hev made it up with you, Peggy.” He put his arms 
about her; she yielded passively, and he drew her down upon his lap. 
Lower and lower went her head ; and as the fire on the hearth crept 
among the branches Granny placed there, the light shone like meshed 
gold in her hair, and showed, too, the depth of shadow brown curls 
could make when laid beside it. 

Against the cabin logs the shadowed portrait of dead Peggy lay ; 
and broader against the wooden wall spread Granny Lovett’s silhouette. 

Outside, the stars were wondering. As if the lightning’s glare had 
scared them, they peeped from drifting clouds and ventured timidly to 
shine once more. The storm-wind had hurried on, but faint breezes 
were lagging in its rear as followers might to an army gone before. 
Big Head was luimming a careless tune among its boulders, to drive 
shame for its wrath away. Like other torrents of its kind, it fell as 
rapidly as it rose. As soon as safety warranted, Abner and Hedge 
plunged into its current and reached the foot-way shore. They clam- 
bered up the rocks and hurried to where, hours before, they had left 
all they held most dear. The spot was deserted. 

Hedge,” exclaimed Abner, joyfully, she’s livin’ yit, an’ Berry 
hez taken her home.” 

No, Abner,” Hedge responded, sadly, she’s dead. Granny come, 
an’ some one ’long with her, an’ they’ve took her to granny’s cabin. I 
saw the light bobbin’, an the long shadder uv a man ag’in’ the rocks. 
Let’s go see.” 

Hit’s a lie,” said Abner, savagely. They hain’t. My Peggy 
hain’t dead. You’re no good on a trail.” 

Hedge answered him coaxingly : Come on. Ef she hain’t thar, 
then we’ll go find her. It’s hard fer you an’ me to think, Abner ; but 
I know she’s thar. Come ’long.” 

The old hunter yielded. Hedge steadied him down the path, took 
bis arm in slippery places, and, bearing his outbursts of rage for prof- 
fered and given help, guided him to where the eye of Granny Lovett’s 
shelter blinked upon the night. Hedge entered first. Granny was 
sitting upright by Peggy’s side ; Berry was in the lap of a stranger to 
him, who held her tightly clasped. While Abner tottered across the 
floor. Hedge stood as one stung to the death. 


62 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


CHAPTER VIIL 

The storm bad not shaken the region around Fighting Rocks as did 
the news of Peggy Byrne’s tragic death and Corner Lovett’s drowning. 
As the news spread in the morning, cabins were deserted, and the moun- 
tain-paths were black with ant-like trains of men, women, and children 
hastening to the bloody spot. Men swarmed over the boulder at the 
Devil’s Pot, still submerged above its opening, and stared, as though to 
pierce its solid covering. Savage mutterings and loud curses were the 
requiem for the dead within it. 

Numerous were the propositions made to reach the murderer’s body. 
Even though they knew him to be dead, men clamored for vengeance 
more complete. Had not Big Head kindly sheltered him, his members 
would have strewn the mountain-side for dogs to gnaw and buzzards to 
peck at. A mighty gathering of stalwart men was there. Some pro- 
posed to split the rock with powder ; others to overturn it. But pas- 
sion ran high, and these plans would take time. They could not wait. 
A boy, to vent his wrath, fired a stone viciously into the Pool ; others 
followed his lead; and soon the cry arose, Let’s fill the Devil’s Pot, 
and shut him in forever/’ 

Hats flew off ; coats were thrown to the ground ; stones were 
grabbed and flung, boulders loosened and tumbled; men worked as 
they had never worked before ; and with each mass sent splashing into 
the swirl went wicked epitaph in curse or gibe to hover round the 
murderer’s sepulchre. 

Women raised the wail in and around Granny Lovett’s cabin. 
Here the cries were born of grief and love and pity for Peggy Byrne. 
Hundreds of willing hands were stretched to do some tender duty; 
every tongue had words for praise alone, and every eye-was moist with 
sympathy. 

Abner Byrne, hardy and knotted as he was to bear against all sorts 
of wind and weather, could not recover from the shock. Weak and 
broken, he sat by his daughter’s side, moaning over and over, ‘‘ It were 
all my fault; it were all my fault. I trailed Hedge too close — fer fun 
— right afore her eyes; an’ she told him to take his hat. Ef her 
mother had been livin’, hit wouldn’t hev happened. It were all my 
fault. She wuz goin’ to make it up with him, an’ got killed.” 

Hedge was as one stunned for life. The touch of Berry’s hand, 
the tenderness of her voice, did not waken in him a single answering 
throb. Granny’s beseeching whisper to him, as he sat glaring at the 
bed where Peggy lay, Hedge, Hedgy dear, ’tain’t no use mournin’ 
so. Hit wuzn’t your fault,” roused no look of comfort in him. 

Of all those present. Major Hardy alone had grasp upon his 
faculties. Berry was moved by that sublimity of womanhood which 
braves all and dares all for the man she loves. Her whole care was 
for Hedge ; yet so did the miraculous coming of her voice impress the 
people there that questionings and superstitious whisperings blocked 
her way to every public act. 

A stranger to the key of incidents. Major Hardy had to guess his 
way. Naturally a commander, he took command. When he touched 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS, 


63 


Abner Byrne on the shoulder, the old hunter felt authority in it. He 
rose and followed the major out of the cabin. Out by the wood-pile 
the man stood bent before him. 

Abner/^ said the major, I will take charge now. What do you 
want done with Peggy V’ 

The answer came quick and prompt. Put her ^long-side uv her 
mother; an^ when I hain^t livin’, tell ’em to put me thar too. The 
time won’t be long. Ther’s no preacher handy to these parts : maybe 
you’ll read a chapter. I want my Peggy buried decent.” 

I will,” replied Major Hardy. 

The answer roused Abner to look in his face. Thank’ee, stranger,” 
he said. You take keer uv things : you’re a feelin’ man.” 

Major Hardy beckoned to a group of men who stood near eying 
them, and, addressing them, said, Make a stretcher, and carry her 
over to her father’s cabin. Dig a grave alongside of her mother. 
When it is ready we will bury her.” 

It needed but a start to get order out of the confused mass waiting 
to do something. No sooner was the direction issued than all stray 
purposes were gathered to one object, the burying of the dead girl. 

How kindly hands plied themselves need not be told. Before the 
jewelled dew was off the grass and the wind had shaken the last rain- 
drops from their settings on the rose-leaves swinging about the door, 
the funeral train came out of Granny Lovett’s cabin. 

On crossed sticks from the wood-pile, withed together with twisted 
hickories, borne on the shoulders of men, rested the shapely form of 
Peggy Byrne. About it crowded men, women, children, raising acora- 
nach, making Big Head’s ravines wild with mournful echoes. When 
the last mourner had departed. Major Hardy stood in the door. He 
seemed divided in purpose: his hat was on his head, he was ready to 
follow ; a backward look seemed to hold him to Hedge. No eyes were 
upon him ; all were on the rude bier borne aloft and rising on the 
mountain pathway. Overmastered by sympathy, he went to where 
Hedge sat by the fireplace. Laying his hand on his shoulder, he asked, 
Are you not going along?” 

In answer to the kindly voice. Hedge rose and stood beside his 
questioner. There were no eyes to look at them ; but, save for the dif- 
ference in years, no eyes, had they been there, could have told the dif- 
ference between them. The clean-cut faces, the transparency of skin, 
the eyes, the hair, the reckless jollity that even grief could not eradi- 
cate, — a laugh seemed breaking out of woe on each of their faces, — 
they were counterparts except in years. 

With strong prompting to do a kindness. Major Hardy looked 
compassionately into his companion’s face. As in a mirror he saw 
himself. The sight startled him. ^^My God!” he inwardly ejacu- 
lated, ‘‘are these mountains full of ghosts? Am I everywhere to see 
reminders of that time?” 

The feeling that bent him to Berry now warmed him beyond com- 
passion, and prompted a more than kindly interest in this youth. He 
took him by the arm and quietly urged him to the cabin door. For 
the first time Hedge seemed to comprehend the situation. He looked 


64 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


at the departing crowd clustering about the bier, and realized that his 
Peggy was gone. 

“Stranger,’’ he said, “I hain’t goin’ along. Pm sort of blinded. 
Take me up to Fightin’ Rocks ; that’s whar she come to make it up 
with me. That’s whar my buryin’ uv her is.” 

One desolation revived thoughts of another. Out of his deaden- 
ing sorrow a wicked gleam sprang to his eyes. He shook off the hold 
of Major Hardy, and, glaring defiantly at him, asked, “ What wuz 
you doin’ with Berry in your lap when I come in last night?” 

The question was a puzzling one. The incident was by no 
means forgotten. That which grounded the major’s action had its 
foundation down in some strange depth of his nature, unfathomable, 
inexplicable. He could not tell this savage mountaineer why. He 
was not certain of the why, himself. Berry was to him Belle, his love, 
his wife, in the dreaminess reaching back through years; yet no cer- 
tainty of else than likeness, dream, and loving instinct fastened him to 
her. What should he answer? 

A good old subterfuge came into his head : when one cannot an- 
swer a question, ask one. So he asked, “ Did you love Berry, once. 
Hedge?” 

Every set muscle of the young man relaxed. He staggered back 
into his chair like a limp string falling to the floor. The flood of his 
sorrow burst out. “ Love her? love her?” he cried. “I planted corn 
an’ taters fer her. I put the clapboards on the roof an’ fixed up the 
cabin fer her. I set the hens, an’ tended the leetle uns when they 
hatched : they wuz all fer Berry. I seed Berry smilin’ in every sprout 
that come from the ground an’ every egg that wuz pipped. I seed her 
’cross the table frum me when I sot down to my victuals. ’Longside 
uv her, chance times, wuz Peggy. I keered fer ’em both. I thought 
it wuz all over atween Peggy an’ me ; she telled me to take my hat an’ 
go. Berry she come a-comfortin’ like; an’ I keered fer her, oncom- 
mon. But Peggy come to make it up; she come to make it up.” 
Leaping to his feet, he threw his arms into the air as if reaching for 
her. “ I’d hev made it up with her, an’ led her to my cabin. My 
God ! she come to make it up. I’d hev give my life fer hern, goin’ 
yander dead. Stranger, kill me. I’ll give my life fer hern, if it’ll 
fetch her to. She wuz skittish, an’ cumscratchitty, but she’d took me 
fer good. Then big-head got atween us, an’ we wuz parted. Berry 
wuz saft an’ comfortin’, an’ I alius minded that she tried to kiss me 
back ag’in when she wuz dyin’. I never forgetted that. But Peggy 
wuz the one that somehow seemed the closest to me last night on the 
rocks. The ole feelin’ come over me ag’in. She’d come to make it 
up, an’ got killed. I’d hev made it up. We’d hev never got big-head 
ag’in.” Sobs shook him as though he was a helpless child. 

The major laid his hand authoritatively but kindly upon his shoul- 
der, as he spoke. “ Hedge, you must be a man. You must try to 
control yourself for the sake of those who are living. You must be a 
man.” 

“I am a man,” he said, firmly, as he rose to his feet. “ I wuz a 
man to Berry, an’ I wuz a man to Peggy. I couldn’t be two men, 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


65 


foolin^ the one an’ t’other. What wuz in me had to come out. Fm 
used to whoopin’ on the mountains. Nothin’ hain’t never corked me 
up. I keered fer ’em both, but Peggy come so lovin’ to make it up.” 
Hedge paused a moment, as if balancing his loves upon his heart’s 
pivot. Suddenly he stepped back, drew himself up, and looked Major 
Hardy square in the eyes. Half savagely, half in honest earnest, he 
exclaimed, I am a man, stranger. I’d ’a’ broke with Berry ef Peggy 
hed hev lived. I don’t see, though, how I’d hev made out. I’d hev 
hated to worrit Berry, she’s so saft an’ lovin’, an’ she’d promised to let 
me coob her jest ez often ez I’d a mind to at Fightin’ P’int. (I wuz 
coobin’ the chickens fer the night when I axed her.) I keer fer her a 
sight, an’ she keers fer me more’n — more’n — no, not more’n Peggy did 
— more’n oodlins. It ’ud go hard with me to fetch sorrowin’ an’ 
worritin’ to her. I stood atween her an’ Corner Lovett, an’ I’ll stan’ 

atween her an’ What wuz you doin’ with her in your lap las’ 

night ? I’ll stall’ atween Berry an’ you er any other feller. I’ll never 
see harm come to her.” 

Hedge,” said the major, sternly, you are doing me a great wrong. 
I pity you with my whole heart. You are not yourself now. You 
must stop this, and come with me. I have no feeling but that of the 
greatest kindness for you and Berry. Remember, I am a stranger to 
you both.” 

Hedge looked at him inquiringly for a moment, as if expecting 
something more. The brown eyes of the major commanded his confi- 
dence ; his earnest words shamed him. He thrust out his hand con- 
fusedly, like one groping for help, and said, impulsively, ^^Take me to 
my cabin, over the rocks to Fightin’ P’int. Somehow I believe you, 
stranger. Take me to my cabin. I hain’t fit to be left alone. I 
hain’t fit to talk to nobody, nohow. I’m all simmered up.” 

Major Hardy took his hand, and did not loose it until they reached 
the pathway. 

The walk was a silent one. Down by the spring and up the trail, 
every foot was strewn with awful memories for Hedge, — memories that 
made his heart jump and every impulse to leap to some treasured use. 
Presently he grasped the major by the shoulder, and, pointing to the 
boulder, exclaimed, with a gesture of anger, That’s where Corner 
died. I know he’s dead, but I feel jest ez if, somehow, I’d hev to kill 
him ag’in. They’ve piled him over with rocks, but I could dig him 

out an’ choke him till — till ” 

Hedge,” said the major, soothingly, I’m going with you to your 
cabin as you asked me to do. You have much to endure and think 
about to-day. Come along quietly. Your trouble grieves me as much 
as it does you.” 

‘^How kin it?” asked Hedge, abruptly. ^^Your Peggy hain’t 
dead. Nobody uv yourn hain’t dead.” 

You are wrong. Hedge,” responded the major, solemnly. There 
is a very dear one dead to me. I thought I saw the dead one living 
again in the girl you saw sitting in my lap. My love went out to her 
as it did twenty years ago to her mother, who is now dead.” 

The two walked on together. The reply, the story, short as it was, 
VoL. LV.— 6 


66 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


allayed the violence in Hedge. He had in a death a counterpart of 
his own grief to console him. The rest he did not comprehend. So 
absorbed were the men in their thoughts that when the ford was 
reached the half-covered stepping-stones were forgotten, and they 
waded through with the sluggish step of cattle bound for change of 
pasture. 

Dripping with Big Head’s water, they stood on Fighting Point. 

“ That was a fool job,” said Hedge, deprecatingly, as he stamped 
the water from his boots. I ought to have packed you across. I 
wuzn’t thinkin’.” He led the way to the cabin. When they reached 
it, he unlocked the door. A folded paper had been thrust under it, 
and lay white and ominous-looking upon the floor. He picked it up, 
and scrutinized it in a puzzled way. ‘‘ Thar’s been somebody yere. 
A court feller, I guess. This paper looks like the court writin’s I’ve 
seed. I reckon ther’s more fightin’ about the P’int. Ther’ll be more 
fightin’ on it if they try to put me off ; unless the rightful owner’s 
fixed on an’ gits his writin’s fer it. I don’t reckon that’ll ever happen ; 
fer ther’s eight uv ’em hev big-head, an’ big-head’s good fer the lawyers. 
Big-head’s wuss with men than women, when it gits a good scald on 
’em.” 

It occurred to Hedge that his companion was standing all this 
while. The natural grace and hospitality of the mountaineer moved 
him to say, Come in, stranger, an’ sit down. Take a cheer. You’ve 
been tryin’ to be comfortin’ to me. I’m obliged to you. Take a 
cheer.” He laid the paper on the table, with the confidential remark 
to it, The feller that writ you hez got to come tell me what your 
meanin’ is ; then I’ll chuck him in Big Head.” 

The fire had gone out. Black coals were the gloomy representa- 
tives of what had been a pleasant greeting against the mountain chilli- 
ness. Hedge stared blankly into the empty fireplace. Suddenly he 
said, I’d best make up a fire. Somehow we both got wet. We’ll 
sit here an’ dry, an’ you kin read the writin’s to me ef you will. I’ll 
be obliged to you.” 

I’ve had one sousing in Big Head, and do not care to risk another 
for reading you that paper,” answered Major Hardy, laughing, yet at 
the same time glancing uneasily at the paper. 

Ther’s no fear uv that,” responded Hedge, soberly. I’m 
’spicionin’ you an’ me ’ud hev a tough tussle fer it. Hit’s them 
peekin’ law-fellers, thet don’t take to water good, thet we sarve that-a- 
way roun’ yere. I’ll make up the fire.” 

Hedge busied himself about it, while Major Hardy watched him 
with keen interest. Hardly had the yellow light cradled into the 
crannies of the darkened room, before he noticed the buttoned sleeve 
hanging against the logs. A coat minus a sleeve has the percentage of 
value in its favor; but a sleeve minus a coat impressed the major as 
representing a useless quantity, even where fractioned garments were 
the rule. Its buttons, too, were of the sort to remind him of old 
army days. The single nail, driven home through the cloth, showed 
him that the hanging was permanent and its preservation more than 
a matter of economy. His curiosity was excited. As Hedge stood 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


67 


looking into the springing blaze, the major rose from his chair to ex- 
amine it more closely. Partly to swing the young man’s thoughts out 
of a sodden track, partly to show an interest in things about him, he 
exclaimed, Hello ! here is a treasured bit of a soldier’s coat, — an 
officer, and a cavalryman at that. What is it doing here? Was your 
father a soldier ?” 

^‘Like ez not,” answered Hedge, indifferently. ‘^They tell me 
these parts wuz full uv ’em at the time uv the war, an’ they fathered a 
sight.” 

Major Hardy was about to drop the sleeve to its swinging-place, 
as an unfortunate selection made by him from the few decorations of 
the cabin, when Hedge added, Granny Lovett tells me that sleeve 
wuz what I wuz burned in an’ throwed away in. That’s all I know 
about it.” 

The major kept his hold upon the sleeve, and turned to look 
earnestly at Hedge. Again he was struck with the remarkable resem- 
blance to himself, — the same stature, the same well-knit form, the bel- 
ligerency of his brown curls, the fidelity in his expressive eyes, the 
same graceful droop of his moustache, the laughing set of his mouth, 
and the easy manly pose, so like his own. 

It was plain upon the major’s face that complex thoughts were 
busying his brain. Who is this fellow, so like me?” he asked him- 
self in anxious query. An officer’s sleeve — a cavalryman’s — born in 
it, as he says, and thrown away. He cannot be my child. Berry is 
the lovely counterpart of my Belle; she must be Belle’s child; I 
cannot be mistaken. Berry could not have had a brother. The like- 
ness of tliis boy to me is merely a strange repetition. There may not 
be such a likeness, after all. Others may not see it. Last night has 
jumbled my brain sadly. Thinking of the old time so much lately, I 
suppose. Something drew me to these mountains again, — Belle’s 
grave ; the missing child. I ought to have come long ago. Thought- 
less, careless wretch. No ; I wanted to come ; but the pain of it, — 
the pain of it. I hate pain. I suffer so much from vivid pictures of 
things that were, and things that must have been, — Belle’s love, her 
trust, her suffering ; crazed by my absence, concealing our marriage, 
her baby born, she alone, sick, wretched, wild, dying, dead. Oh, 
Belle, and I loved you so !” His face told of the spectral parade con- 
jured from the past. He was bowed, tearful, lost in contemplation of 
it. Still the visions came and faded ; the lonely cabin on the mountain 
clearing; two orphaned sisters, winning in their simplicity, luxuriant 
in beauty’s lines, and free as air to every impulse. His cheeks tingled, 
his eyes brightened, his heart bounded, as he in fancy rode again the 
mountain-trails with jingling spurs and rattling sabre, now chasing a 
deserter, now cutting through Confederate lines, now being chased in 
turn. One picture of all others lingered : a midnight dash for life; a 
volley ; a dead horse and a shattered arm ; a run ; a glimmering light ; 
a cabin refuge; two startled girls ; his story told ; the quick slipping 
of a night-cap on his head, nimble fingers tying the strings, active 
arms tucking him in their own warm bed, and lies by the score, as the 
loyal maidens stood fearlessly to guard their grandmother,” sickened 


68 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


to the death, from the fright and shocking presence of pursuers. Then 
the long concealment, tender nursing ; the love that grew for Belle, the 
elder of his protectors ; the love that gave itself, unasked, with woman’s 
generous bountiful ness ; the hasty wedding in the cabin, one stormy 
night, when before a belated circuit rider the groom dropped from the 
loft to meet a willing bride and scare a frightened parson through a 
chattering rite. How beautiful and happy she looked, blushing in the 
firelight, her blue eyes drinking from his own love’s fullest draughts, 
and from his lips a promise sacred for life ! How fair her sister as she 
stood beside her, like as a twin ; and how scared the parson was, when 
the hand that brought his fee in sight clasped a revolver’s stock, and 
he swore on it — by the blue of its barrel, its six charges, and Almighty 
God — that he would never tell of the wedding until called upon to do 
so, lest harm should come to the bride for hiding a Yankee soldier. 
Bright were the visions of those few days. The dancing fire on the 
hearth at his side was not more gay than the play of happiness on the 
major’s countenance. Then sadness hung his features with a steady 
gloom. A parting scene, with all its harrowing detail, was spread in 
Memory’s frame : a sudden alarm ; a passionate farewell ; a hurried 
flight; reckless daring and thrilling escapes; the shout of his troop 

as he joined it; the merry jest at Why did Major Hardy start 

as if shot, and tear the old sleeve from its fastening? Why did he 
hurry with it to the door, and nervously thrust his finger through a 
bullet-hole in the cloth? What made him turn out the lining of the 
cutF and stare so long at his own name written there? The merry 
jests of his comrades of long ago had sounded through many years, 
and found an echo on that cabin wall ; he had joined his command in a 
one-sleeved coat! Well he remembered now its loss. Belle Riley had 
ripped it from its shoulder-seam that she might get at his wounded 
arm with less of pain and more of speed ; and in the dallying days of 
love and convalescence, thoughts of parting gave no sign ; so the coat 
hung one-armed in the loft, and in the hurried flight the sleeve was 
left behind. 

Major Hardy stood long in the cabin door. That old coat-sleeve 
was key to many a ward ; it threw the bolt barring the mystery of 
the missing child; it released the knowledge of Hedge’s parentage; 
it restored to him a son. It was plain to him that his wife, in her 
insanity, had thought of him and him alone. She had clothed her 
babe in all that she had of his, — the old coat-sleeve, — and had thrown 
it away, that she might longer keep her promise to conceal their mar- 
riage, then tottered home to die of grief. He saw it all, and the sight 
sickened him. What should he do now? Was this a time to tell the 
sore-hearted youth, whose ideas were tossed about like sparks in the 
blackened chimney where he stared, that he was his father? Was this 
a time to tell of a mother’s death ? or a time to defend himself? He 
fairly cursed himself for a coward. Why had he so long selfishly 
yielded to his dislike for all that brought him worry, thinking of these 
mountains as threatening giants armed with sorrow’s chastising weapons, 
and left his loved one’s memory smirched with shame, her child to die 
or live with bastard” covering any name the world might give him, 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTIFQ ROCKS. 


69 


feeding from the unstable hand of Charity ? He had not meant to do 
a wrong; but that old sleeve uncovered the skeleton of his past with 
all its hideousness. Strong man that he was, his heart felt the slack- 
ening of its beats, and clammy sweat started upon his forehead. What 
would the manly fellow, true to every prompting of his unrestrained 
nature, say when he knew the truth? He would not tell him now ; he 
would wait ; but certain was he that with every power he had he would 
make amends. He could not raise the dead and proudly proclaim his 
wife, but he could right her memory and beget in her son a pride that 
would do her honor. The very ground on which he stood — Fighting 
Point — was his own. Months previous to this day, the courts had 
named him the rightful owner. The little scene before him of new- 
made fences and cared-for crops, flower-beds and well-stocked garden, 
warm stable and chicken village, told him that not love of gain but 
love of woman had impelled the hands that tended them. He would 
give it all to Hedge. As he had the day before spurred in haste to 
Granny Lovett’s cabin, racing with the storm, he had stopped a moment 
to serve a legal vacating notice upon the squatter on his premises. 
This was the paper he was now called upon to read. He smiled as his 
good heart told him of the happiness in store for Hedge when he should 
find his labor paid for and the land his own. Less gruesome were his 
thoughts as castles rose well built for Hedge. But between him and 
the pictured memories, between him and the rising castles, was the living 
face of Berry. It sprung anew in him the love he richly gave a score 
and more of years ago. He felt her warmth of cheek and yielding 
form, as he had pressed her to him but yesternight. How strong the 
fancy grew that she by right was his ! FTow that she could not be his 
child, he felt the clinging still. His Belle was in her face, form, eyes, 
and soul, — Belle born again, — and Belle was his. Who was she? 
What strange resurrection was this? 

The voice of Hedge disturbed his revery. You’d best come dry 
yourself, stranger. You might ketch cold.” 

Exciting and agitating as the discovery was to Major Hardy, his 
soldierly training was such that coolness and deliberation generally 
controlled his acts. He replaced the sleeve upon its nail, and took 
a seat in front of the fire, resolved to let Time drift him for a few 
days, at least, until he had a chance to talk with Granny Lovett. The 
subject uppermost in his mind would naturally out; it sought an 
airing, and was not long in getting it. Occasionally his eyes wan- 
dered from Hedge to the sleeve on the wall ; at last he asked, Did 
you ever find out who threw you away in that sleeve, or to whom it 
belonged ?” 

The question roused Hedge. ^^What’d you say?” he asked, ab- 
sently. 

The major repeated his question. 

A flash of humor brightened Hedge’s face. No,” he replied : I 
never tried. I don’t reckon the feller it belonged to keers to hev it 
back ; an’ the woman that throwed me away in it, hit never ’peared to 
me I keered to know. Granny alius told me she couldn’t be much, so 
I didn’t keer to make her acquaintance. I wuz rayther young an’ leetle 


70 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


when I fitted into that sleeve, an’ didn’t look much after things then. 
When I growed into a chunk uv a boy, I knowed I wuz a throw-away ; 
ther’s lots uv ’em about yere, — they’re counted jist ez good ez other 
people, an’ I never counted on bein’ any better. Them thet’s had me 
since granny found me yellin’ in the fence-corner hez keered fer me ez 
well ez they knowed how. I don’t b’lieve Ben Harner, or Susie, or 
Granny Lovett, ever keered to git rid uv me ; so they never sarched 
fer my rale owners. What people find yere in the mountains is their 
own, anyway ; so nobody never hunted up my belongin’s. I’m 
often minded of the blackbirds thet hatches their young uns in the 
spring; when the fall comes they turn ’em loose to jine the flock when 
it comes along, an’ then they go their way, thinkin’ only uv nestin’ 
ag’in. I done reckon my right folks is nestin’ somewhere. I’ve seed 
the time when I’d like to hev hed the rest uv that coat; it ’ud hev 
been comfortin’ ag’in’ the cold. It ’ud hev been some good to me; 
more’n — more’n the daddy an’ mammy that throwed me away.” 

Major Hardy watched him closely, as he talked. His eyes spoke 
interest in the independence of the man, and lit with amusement at his 
devil-may-care philosophy ; but they closed on inward condemnation 
when his last words struck home. 

I wish that you would give me that sleeve. Hedge: maybe I can 
match it with the rest of the coat.” 

You’re welcome to it,” Hedge responded, carelessly. Ef the 
rest uv the coat wuz throwed away ez keerless ez that sleeve wuz, I’m 
thinkin’ it hain’t wuth much by this time. Granny kep’ the ole sleeve 
fer me, an’ when I moved in here I hung it up. I alius thought it ’ud 
be a good thing fer me an’ Berry to laugh at, lookin’ at how leetle I 
wuz wunst. An’ — ha! ha ! I can’t help laughin’ at thinkin’ I must 
hev looked like a red sassige in a blue skin. My poor leetle Berry ! I 
don’t reckon she’ll ever laugh ag’in, — an’ her so made fer laughin’.” 
He relapsed into silence, placed his elbows on his knees, and bowed his 
head in his hands. 

The major shifted uneasily in his chair. My poor leetle Berry.” 
The words flashed like a glittering sword between her loved face 
and himself. It warned him to defend the rights he felt some prior 
claim had given him ; then, as his thoughts clustered about Berry, he 
saw her in the light of Granny Lovett’s fire, and drew her closer to 
him. 

The sun had now swung all shadows from west to east, and its glow 
spread in through the open door with such munificence of light and 
warmth that the fire sank unnoticed beneath its ashes, save where 
slanting brands pointed ruddy tips across the andirons at each other, 
like mimic batteries in range. Major Hardy started from his seat as 
one urged from dream to wakefulness by some master purpose. Hedge, 
overcome by excitement and fatigue, was sleeping soundly. The major 
took the sleeve from its nail, folded it, and placed it carefully in his 
pocket, then quickly slid the paper from the table and threw it among 
the smothering embers. Come, Hedge,” he called, we must go to 
Abner’s.” 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


71 


CHAPTER IX. 

The air was clear, and still as a pooled spring, in the valley where 
Abner Byrne’s cabin rested. Two homing cranes, with dragging legs 
and slow-waving wings, steered themselves between its rocky sides, 
far up on seeming nothingness. Where the shadows blackest lay, fire- 
beetles took them for the coming night and flashed their sepulchral 
lights. The sky was blank and blue as unsullied steel. 

Where the mountain-side had loosed its hold and dropped to leave 
a cove-like niche, graves huddled in a lonely group, and straight-boled 
pines stood grimly over them. A mound of yellow earth, rounded and 
freshly smoothed, stretched near a pine-needled ridge, and underneath 
it, by her mother’s side, lay buried Peggy Byrne. 

God’s words had been read to a sobbing group, and God’s echoes 
had answered Amen. Major Hardy, erect, with book in hand, gazed 
dreamily across the valley at a gilded peak speared heavenward. 
Abner, with his clinging children about him, bent palsied by his grief. 
Hedge Harner leaned against a jagged pine and groaned aloud his 
misery. Old Spank crouched at his master’s feet and wondered. One 
face alone of all the crowd — tear-swollen and set in longing — was 
turned from the new-filled grave; and that was Berry Lovett’s. If 
Hedge Harner had but once turned his eyes to her for comfort, all 
others there might cast reproach, but her arms would have been about 
his neck, and his head pillowed where as true a heart as ever beat 
throbbed thankful answer to his wanting. 

At the coming and going of life Granny Lovett was ever abreast 
of the occasion ; but in this special cruelty of Death she felt that she 
had indirectly taken a hand, by rearing him who struck the blow; she 
therefore mourned accordingly. Her comprehensive sorrow included 
all those to whom Corner’s murderous work had brought distress, — 
Abner, Hedge, and Berry. For Berry was the greatest share, because 
she was a woman, and so must bear in silence the torturing knowledge 
of a rival and the harrowing longing for a love astray. She saw 
where Berry’s gaze was riveted ; she knew the loving girl so well that 
her quivering thoughts were plain as her sad eyes and yearning face. 
Slipping her arm about her, she whispered in her ear, Come, honey ; 
come home. Blessed are they that mourn, fer they shall be comforted 
ez soon ez they git over the wust uv it, ez the good Book sez ; an’ 
keep your lamp burnin’, an’ the bridegroom’ll see the light, accordin’ 
to the Scripter. Let’s go home.” 

Major Hardy saw them move, and quickly joined them. The 
people were departing. The stir loosened the claws of Despair from 
Hedge. Though deep and rankling yet were the wounds, he looked 
about him. Down the rocky pathway he saw the stranger, with 
courtly grace, take Berry’s hand to help her. Then jealousy, hydra- 
headed and thousand-eyed, crept in him like a demon. Until they 
disappeared from view, he stood irresolute ; then, striding over Peggy’s 
grave, he dashed into the forest. 

Many are the first legislative acts ascribed to Dame Nature. Maiden, 
wife, or widow, as she may be, — because of no settled authority upon 


72 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


her status, — she certainly has, among tlie first, compounded her own 
experiences into law, and vaccinated the human race, not as against the 
virulence of jealousy, but with it as a bristling armament repelling any 
charge made on the ready garrison of love, prompt to do battle for its 
own. 

Numbed to nice distinctions as Hedge Harner was by the dread 
remembrances of the hour, the sight of Berry Lovett with other hands 
than his own in hers banished grief and all its tender suite. He forgot 
the dead, forgot even the torn division of his own love. Had there 
been twenty Peggys dead, there was to him a living Berry, and she, 
now, more precious than them all. He knew nothing about metempsy- 
chosis ; far better for him if he had ; for into him, unknowingly, glided 
the soul of Corner Lovett with all its horrid jealousy. Blindly he 
dashed through the woods and briers, until he reached his hearth at 
Fighting Point. There, upon the ashes, the unburned paper lay. He 
opened and read it, and with an oath sat down to brood. 

Valley and ravine were but little darker than the night outside 
where Granny Lovett lived. Berry had gone to bed, and was now 
in the black realm of Sleep. Major Hardy was looking with much 
interest at the lid of an open trunk, on the inside of which was a long 
row of marks leaning at all angles or standing in various degrees of 
toppling uncertainty. Granny was sitting on the floor, holding a 
candle close to this, her Family Register, and pointing emphatically to 
a mark done over several times for certainty, and crowned with a 
puffy B. 

That streak stands fer Berry. I know it well among the whole 
lot; I streaked it over lots uv times. Once, I mind, when we thought 
she wuz dead uv a fever, she come to an’ got well. I streaked it that 
time in the fulness uv joy, ez the Book says, ’cause she wuz livin’ ag’in. 
Then I streaked it ag’in when Corner shot her, an’ she come round 
livin’ an’ lovin’er than ever. An’ I’ll streak it ag’in when her an’ 
Hedge gits married, an’ my oxen an’ fatlin’s is killed, an’ the weddin’ 
done over, ez the Scripter says. Thar’s the B fer Berry. She put it 
thar herself, arter practisin’ fer it with a bit uv coal on every palin’ in 
my yard fence. Look yere, close. Her streak stan’s seven forrid 
frum Hedge. That streak, seven back, with a cross fer a T fer throw- 
away, is his’n. There’s five streaks that I grannied, an’ one fer a 
ragler, atween ’em. The grannied streaks is slantin’, an’ the raglers is 
straight. Pve been simmered up about it, ever since you told me thet 
poor Belle Riley wuz your wife, thinkiii’ thet I finded Berry seven 
furder along than Hedge ; that’s about two year. I finded Hedge the 
day afore I heerd poor Belle wuz gone dead. Berry is p’intedly the 
pictur’ uv her. I can’t make out their lookin’ so much alike; but 
Berry hain’t hern, major. You kin depind upon it. Berry hain’t hern ; 
Belle wuz in her grave when Berry wuz horned.” Granny shook her 
head sorrowfully but positively, as she looked at him and said this. 

know it, granny,” responded the major, with some hesitancy; 

Berry is not her child ; but — but the other one. Hedge, is. Look at 
this!” As he spoke, he drew the coat-sleeve from his pocket and 
unfolded it. 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


73 


Granny knew it at once. The candlestick sloped in her relaxed 
grasp, until the candle’s flame sputtered with overcharge of tallow. 
She propped herself against the floor with her other arm, and the tilt 
raised her feet rafterward, as if in exclamatory gesture. 

The major’s face wrestled with twitches of amusement, as he added, 
^^This sleeve belongs to a coat of mine. Belle ripped it off herself. 
Here is my name on it, — written on the lining.” 

‘‘Great nations! Great jubiti tee ! This beats the prodigal’s re- 
turn clean gone out of sight. I hain’t never heerd nothin’ like it, 

no time, nohow, noway. Oh, Absalom, my son, my That tex’ 

won’t do. An’ he fell on his neck an’ em ’Tain’t it, neither. 

An’ Jacob blessed No, none of ’em ’ill do. The hull Scripters 

hez nothin’ like it. Do you feel like a fayther to Hedge? Does your 
bowels yearn ?” 

Major Hardy laughed outright. His keen sense of the ridiculous 
routed all conduct proper to the occasion. Granny was quick to inter- 
pret face-signs and the many species of human utterance; but she mis- 
took the major’s laugh for derision. It hurt her deeply, and aroused 
alarm for the peace of her favorite ones. “ You wouldn’t laugh if 
you’d once knowed what it wuz to once hev a yearnin’. Maybe men 
don’t git it; maybe it hezn’t hed time to come over you yit. But I 
hev it. I hev it like a hen cluckin’ her chickens under her wings, ez 
the Book says. I’ve watched over Hedge nigh all the time since the 
leetle feller wuz yellin’ in that sleeve (an’ ther’ wuz room left at each 
end uv it fer drawin’-strings). An’ Berry’s keered fer him more’n 
arything else, ever since she give up suckin’ her thumb. It grieves 
me to larn thet his own fayther hain’t got no bowel-yearnin’; it hain’t 
a Scripter feelin’ to be without it.” Then she added, with alarm and 
inquiry in her tone, “ You wouldn’t come atween Berry an’ him, would 
you ? — thinkin’ Berry wuzn’t good enough fer him because he’s yourn, 
an’ ’cause you’re quality? It ’ud break my heart, an’ — an’ Berry’s. 
She keers fer him so.” 

Major Hardy’s laugh had ceased at the beginning of her feeling 
appeal. Every word touched a sensitive point in his kindly nature ; 
but “She keers fer him so” struck like a stab at some vital spot. It 
was to him as though one had told him his wife had loved another 
than himself. Notwithstanding this rankling wound, Granny’s pitiful 
face moved him above the pain. He reached his hand courteously to 
her, as he answered soberly, “ I did not mean to hurt your feelings, 
granny. You have done all that a good, true woman could ; and with 
my whole heart I thank you for it. Let me help you up, and then we 
will talk it all over. I could not help laughing at your comical posi- 
tion on the floor.” 

“ ’Tis kind uv onragler,” she responded, with a smile, as she took 
his hand ; “ but the floor’s all the same ez a cheer to me, — back, legs, 
an’ rockers.” Still, the uppermost question in her mind had not been 
answered. Remaining at anchor, regardless of his lift, she asked again, 
“You wouldn’t come between Berry and Hedge, would you?” 

Holding her hand. Major Hardy looked squarely into her anxious 
face ; it was in itself an appeal that conquered all hesitancy. “ No,” 


74 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


he answered, firmly. If Berry loves him, I will not stand between 
them.’^ 

‘‘ The good Lord bless you fer them words ! You’re a feelin’ man, 
an’ has a Scripter yearnin’, fer all. Bowels is bowels, fer children, 
men’s er women’s.” She rose lightly to her feet as she spoke. Her face 
was beaming with pleasurable content when she placed the candle on 
the mantel-piece and sat down where she could look admiringly into 
the major’s face. 

From the stables and tree-tops, cocks told of their midnight waking ; 
yet Granny and the major still talked on. They had much to tell each 
other, and they told it without stop or jar. Granny was ever ready 
with excuse for his conduct and condolence for his remorse, while the 
major was plentiful in praise and thanks for her. 

After Granny’s ills, ailments, trials, and troubles had been properly 
interlarded with Scriptural modifications adapted to her experiences, 
after the life of Hedge had been itemized and the story of Berry’s ex- 
istence related. Major Hardy asked, What became of Belle’s sister, 
Minnie? She was a beautiful girl. I used to tell Belle that I was 
afraid I would carry off Minnie in mistake for her, if I made a sud- 
den raid some time to capture her.” 

She wuzn’t purty the last time I saw her : she wuz all gone to a 
shadder. No one never heerd, that I’ve heerd uv, what become uv 
her. Arter Belle died, she stayed on a while at the cabin over to 
Jordan’s Creek Divide. People wondered why she stayed there by 
herself, it were so lonesome, an’ them were troubulous times. But 
they finded out thet she wuz keepin’ sly company with a Yankee 
soldier, a high-up man, they say. All uv a suddint she took a notion 
to sell off everything, an’ nobody knowed, no time, whar she went off 
to. Some says the cabin is ha’nted ; an’ some says they’ve seed her 
ghost on the mountains, all in white, an’ her hair a-flyin’, an’ her eyes 
shinin’ like fire, an’ she didn’t make no shadder, no time. They say it 
’peared like she wuz huntin’ fer somebody she couldn’t find, nohow, er 
wuz a-waitin’ fer somebody thet didn’t come. An’ some says her sweet- 
heart didn’t do right by her; fer he stopped a-comin’ awhile afore she 
sold out, an’ nobody hain’t seen him since. Hit wuz about the time 
thet I finded Elderberry thet her ghost wuz seed. Poor girl ! I 
reckon she hez to be dead fer to make a rale ghost. It’s better to be a 
rale ghost frum bein’ dead, than a livin’ ghost frum trouble.” 

Granny’s answer affected her listener deeply. Surprise, shock, 
anger, occupied his expressive face in turn ; then deep thought, through 
which, at last, a settled decision shone. He nodded his head termina- 
tively, and spoke as one impelled by his thoughts to speech : I know 
now who Berry’s mother is.” 

Granny was seemingly in meditation too profound for the words to 
reach. For several minutes there was no response. She rose, went to 
the major, and placed her hand on his shoulder. As though his mind 
was open to her, she said, You’re p’intedly right. You’ve got the 
specifications uv it. You’re p’intedly right. Poor Minnie! Poor 
girl ! Let him, er her, thet is witliout sin, heave the first rock at her, 
ez the Book says. Ther’s oodlius uv rocks in this kentry, but the folks 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


75 


to heave them is skerce. Ef anybody raises a hand to her, er says a 
disrespect! ve word, Fll let ^em know that Berry is Elderberry Lovett ; 
an^ Elderberry Lovett she’ll stay till she hez a mind to alter it her own 
self. My ole man faythered her ez soon ez I fetched her home ; I said 
Elderberry, an’ he said Lovett, — ez good an’ forrid a name ez there is 
in these parts ; an’ it shall stan’ that-a-way fer all time an’ etarnity an’ 
the hull hereafter, ez the Scripter says. I done reckon you’re about 
ready to go to bed.” 


CHAPTER X. 

The next morning the major sat on his horse at the yard gate. 
Granny Lovett, while they talked in confidential tones, held fast to his 
bridle-rein, loath to let him go. Berry stood in the cabin door, a fair 
picture for the sun’s first rays to shine upon and for budding clusters 
of the twining rose to frame appropriately. Something in Major 
Hardy’s parting words had hastened hope to Berry’s face, and, with it, 
color to her rounded cheeks. Her blue eyes — blue as the morning sky, 
and, like it, seen through a mistiness — were open wide, and fixed on the 
No Land where eyes so oft confide their precious secrets. Reluctantly, 
Granny let fall the rein, saying cheerfully, as she did so, ‘‘ Good luck 
to you, major, an’ a safe journey. You’ll be back in ’bout a week, an’ 
you’ll be main welcome. Take keer uv yourself; good men is skerce.” 

The major made some remark that gladdened Granny to her jovial 
self, and got for him a sounding thwack on his well-turned leg, ac- 
companied by a push to his horse as a starter. 

At Fighting Point, Hedge Harner sat brooding on his cabin step. 
His chickens called in vain from their latticed coops, and chicklets 
shrilly piped their wants. All the night long he had tossed and turned, 
dreamed, fretted, brooded, until, condemned by his own thoughts to 
sleepless misery, he had risen and then sat down to brood again. Over 
and over again he asked himself, Who is this stranger that has come 
among the mountains to disturb me?” He had heard Granny whisper 
his name — James Hardy — with the quick ear that feeds a jealous brain. 
There was his signature upon the notice to quit his lands and tene- 
ments. ^‘His lands and tenements, forsooth ! Had not he, Hedge 
Harner, built the cabin and fenced the land, erected the stable and 
planted tlie crops ? Was he going to submit? Was he going to be put 

out? Were all his work and plans for Berry Berry? Curse him ! 

what right had he to have Berry on his lap, to take her by the hand, 
to touch her ? He would rue the day he came to Big Head regions. 
And yet he was a feelin’ man. Maybe it would all come right. No; 
he was a spy, a land-shark, a robber of the poor, a breaker-up of plans, 
a sneakin’ feller meanin’ no good to nobody. He was huggin’ Berry !” 
And so, with untrained, unchecked passions running riot in him. 
Hedge sat and brooded. 

No use to tell the story. No use for any other hell than where 
Love lights the fire and Jealousy feeds the flame. This earth is 
covered fathoms deep with such charred bodies; and where black 
angels flock, are such singed wings. 


76 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


At last Hedge braced himself with some strong determination. He 
rose, stuck the paper in his pocket, lifted his rifle from its hooks, 
fastened his door, loosened his stock to roam at will, and took to the 
mountains, there to watch and wait, — the demon of Corner Lovett 
throned in him as counsellor. 

Often, during the week following, had Granny Lovett, choked with 
news and gagged by secrecy, trudged to Hedge’s cabin to hint at coming 
consolation and give him present comfort ; but she as often found the 
cabin empty. Her brain grew weary of the load ; her mother-heart 
was heavy with anxiety. Berry, too, had longer sittings with wan De- 
spondency, between the rosy visits of Hope. What was Granny’s joy 
one afternoon, just as a week measured Major Hardy’s absence, to see 
Hedge standing on the trail she followed home from Fighting Rocks ! 
but what was her horror when she saw him quickly lean over the 
ravine’s depth, cock his rifle, and point it downward at the spring! 
Her stricken eyes were glazed, her tongue was speechless ; for there by 
the mirroring pool Hedge’s own father sat, with his heart’s love — 
Berry — close beside him. She tried to call to Hedge ; but no sound 
would come. She tried to run to him ; but her legs seemed frozen. 
She leaned against the rocky side, in agony, and closed her ears to the 
coming shot. 

Silently the spring-flow stole among its pebbles and slipped away, 
leaving the tiny pool unruffled in patience to gather more. Major 
Hardy had just ceased speaking. His words had softened Berry’s eyes 
to a warm gaze of love into his own, as he placed a package in the lap 
made by her half-bare arms then clasped about her knees. Whether 
from the thankfulness of love, Hedge knew not, but, as he watched 
them from above with haggard face and stony eyes, she threw her arms 
about the major’s neck and kissed him fondly. His passion was at its 
height. The fiend of Jealousy had cast this its hottest burning brand 
upon his heart’s flame. He raised his rifle and aimed it straight at 
Major Hardy’s heart. The major’s face was toward him, filled with 
love and brimming over with pleasure. The trigger loosened on its 
catch. 

A revulsion came. Along the levelled rifle-barrel Hedge saw a 
face like his own, and to it pressed the loving lips of Berry. The 
scene reminded him of that cherished day when, thus, she just so 
fondled him. A plaintive cry, that many a time had pleaded for her 
and wakened every tender generous impulse in him, — She tried to 
kiss me back ag’in, dyin’,” — now rose above the brawl of devil’s fight 
for precedence, and ushered in the God of Good to fight down every 
enemy. He raised the gun above his head, and with an angry scowl, 
condemning self, he dashed it down the rocks. With a convulsive 
gesture, as though to tear himself to pieces, he exclaimed, ‘‘ I’m ez 
mean a skunk ez Corner Lovett. I b’lieve that devil’s in me. I 
wouldn’t hurt her leetle heart if she keered fer forty men.” The fire 
in him was out, and bitter tears came fast to lay its senseless ashes. 

The rifle, falling, clinked against the jutting rock-points; its cap 
was struck, and down by the spring-side a sharp report rang out. 
Hedge heard it. His face grew gray with fright. With terror 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


77 


stretchiDg his eyelids open to their utmost, he looked over the ledge, 
and there, below, saw Berry lying lifeless by the spring, and Major 
Hardy bending over her. Sure of foot and steady as a somnambulant, 
with fixed stare and mouth wide with horror’s gasp, Hedge sped down 
the trail, leaped the steps at the spring, and threw himself upon the 
ground at Berry’s side, fumbling her over, like a maniac groping for 
some ghastly wound he cannot find. 

She has only fainted, Hedge,” said Major Hardy, soothingly, 
alarmed by the wild look and actions of the youth. The noise and 
shot frightened her. She has borne much lately, — been over-anxious, 
and unstrung. Siie has only fainted ; she will recover in a minute.” 

Hedge stared at him blankly. Slowly the major’s words unfolded 
their meaning to his brain. His hands ceased their wandering, and 
settled to caressing strokes on golden hair and pallid cheeks. Thought 
responded to touch ; he realized that she was living. He tenderly 
slipped his arm under and raised her : lower and lower went his head : 
‘‘ Berry ; my own leetle Berry ; my leetle sweetheart : come to !” he 
murmured, softly, as if waking a babe. 

She opened her eyes, and, seeing who it was, offered her lips to his. 

Hedge looked quickly up at Major Hardy, and, with a radiant joy 
in face and voice, he said, She’s tryin’ to kiss me back ag’in, livin’ !” 

Major Hardy answered with an assenting smile. 

Granny had seen Hedge withdraw his rifle from its murderous aim 
and dash it to the ravine, but her well-stopped ears had not heard the 
shot. She raised her hands to heaven in joyous thankfulness, then 
slapped them on her thighs as if about to give exultant crow. ‘‘ Thank 
the good Lord fer that !” she exclaimed, triumphantly. ^^The devil’s 
out uv him. He didn’t know he wuz aimin’ at his own pop, er he’d 
never hev done it ; no, never, nohow, no time, noway. Thank the 
good Lord fer castin’ the devil out an’ savin’ him ! The Lord put a 
tar-swipe on Cain’s forehead fer killin’ his brother; but thar’s no tar 
ner swipe fer Hedge’s. Thank the good Lord fer that! He shan’t 
cut sich a right caper ez that ag’in, — p’intin’ a gun at his own fayther ; 
jalous uv Berry, an’ her lovin’ him more’n ever; jalous uv his own 
pop, an’ him away fer a week fixin’ things fer ’em in a lawin’ way. 
I ’spicion he wuz jist tellin’ Berry how he’d fixed k, an’ who he is; 
an’ she wuz jist huggin’ an’ kissin’ him fer it in her lovin’ way. Ef I 
cotch the devil clawin’ at Hedge ag’in. I’ll p’intedly say, ^Git behind 
me, Satan, er I’ll put you thar,’ — ez the Scripter says. I’ll make his 
fayther tell him he’s his pop. I can’t stan’ it no longer, nohow. I’m 
all pufferty up an’ like to bust holdin’ in, an’ hez been this week back. 
Whar on airth hez Hedge gone to?” 

The anxious query put motion into Granny. She hastened after 
him down the path, and so engaged was she with her busy thoughts 
that she did not look up from the rugged way until she paused to descend 
more slowly the step-way to the spring. ‘‘Great nations !” she ejacu- 
lated, when she saw Hedge with his arms about Berry, and Major 
Hardy calmly looking at them, — “Great nations! If it hain’t the 
prodigal’s return to his fayther ; only he’s got his arms around the 
wrong neck ; ez the Book says.” She could keep the secret no longer. 


78 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


Hedge !'^ she shouted, throwing her hands into the air, then bringing 
them wide-spread to her knees, where they rested, she half stooping, to 
better hold her steady while she peered for every move her startling 
gush of news might bring about. Hedge!” again, until the rocks 
shouted, you’re the prodigal returnin’ to your fayther I He’s your 
fayther, — your own pop ! Major Hardy’s your fayther ! You’ve fell on 
the wrong neck ! He’s your right pop ! You’ve sinned ag’in’ heaven 

an’ afore him, an’ you’re No Git up. Hedge, an’ shake ban’s 

with him ; the Scripter says it.” Granny paused to see the effect of 
her words and catch her fast-going breath. 

At the first sound of Granny’s voice. Major Hardy darted her a 
glance of recognition, and nodded encouragingly. As she proceeded 
with her electrifying proclamation, her eyes rested upon Hedge, full 
of kind interest and bright with expectancy. Hedge, startled, looked 
at Granny, then at the major. What he heard and saw set back his 
slowly recovering brain. It was as a relapse to helplessness in a con- 
valescent. He looked into Berry’s upturned face, just coloring from 
full consciousness of all about her, for the comfort he knew to be there, — 
the remedy in a loved one’s presence. Granny saw it, too, and guessed 
the meaning of his quiet and appeal. With all the positive assurance 
gesture, tone, and words could give, she said, I’m tellin’ you the gospel 
truth. Hedge, — the hull gospel truth, — Matthew, Mark, Luke, an’ John, 
the Old Testymint an’ the Apocryfy. Major Hardy, sittin’ thar lookin’ 
at you with his bowels yearnin’, is your fayther. Belle Riley, the 
purtiest an’ lovin’est girl I ever knowed, ’cept Berry (an’ she looks ez 
much like her ez two leetle suckin’ pigs, without ary spot), wuz your 
mother. An’ your fayther keers fer Berry like a’most as he did fer her. 
She went out uv her mind frum grievin’ fer your pop when you wuz 
borned, an’ he wuz away fightin’, an’ maybe gittin’ killed, an’ couldn’t 
git home to her; an’ she throwed you away in the fence-corner. Then 
the poor, dear critter went down dead. Your fayther rode a long ways 
at the risk of his life to be at the buryin’, an’ he took on powerful at 
the grave. I know where she’s buried, an’ she’s goin’ to have a pure 
white monymint with MY WIFE cut on it in big letters an’ signed 
James Hardy. Fer Belle Riley was your fayther’s wife. Hedge, tight 
ez a real preacher could tie ’em. She wuz your mother, an’ he’s your 
fayther. He’s told me all about it. I’ve knowed it for more’n a week, 
an’ it’s nigh killed me holdin’ it in. Ef you don’t believe it, an’ 
thinks her thet’s been a mother to you nigh ez she kin, iver since she 
found you yellin’, an kickin’, an’ wantin’ somethin’ to eat, in a coat- 
sleeve, an’ give you a ministerin’ to your wants, ez the Scripter says, 
— then I’m a-storyin’; that’s all. He has the sleeve that you wuz 
borned in, with his name down in black an’ white on the linin’; an’. 
Hedge, he l]ez the balance uv the coat ! Ef that hain’t proof, ther’s no 
law an’ gospel !” 

Granny was glowing with excitement and enthusiasm, and was 
driving her words toward Hedge’s astonished yet now eager face with 
all the energy a butting head and clinched hands could bring to bear. 
‘‘ He’s your fayther, an’ a right fayther he is, too. He hez a Scripter 
yearnin’ fer you. Why, Hedge, he owns Fightin’ P’int, an’ nigh all 


THE WAIFS OF FIGHTING ROCKS. 


79 


the land in these parts, an^ hez court writings fer it. IVe seed ’em, an’ 
I know court writin’s. He’s goin’ to give all the hull kentry to you 
an’ Berry foriver. He went away to git the papers fixed in a lawin’ 
way; an’ if I hain’t most jujubiously mistaken, them’s the papers 
layin’ in Berry’s lap ; an’ he’s told her all about it, an’ he’s give ’em to 
her to give to you, on account uv his Scripter yearnin’ ; an’ that’s what 
Berry wuz a-huggin’ an’ a-kissin’ him fer when you — when you — oh, 

Hedge, when you She’s the lovin’est creetur thet ever wuz wantin’ 

to leave her fayther an’ mother an’ all that she’s owner of, fer to cling to 
a husband, — an’ that feller’s you, — ez the Scripter says. Ef you don’t 
b’lieve what I’ve told you, ax Berry.” Granny was out of breath and 
unloaded. She was ready, now, to work the others in their parts. 

As Hedge absorbed her words and gained knowledge of their 
weight and meaning, he did not once doubt their truth. Granny was 
to him the one of all others whose sincerity and truth he never doubted ; 
yet with brightened eyes, and much of his old-time gayety, thinking 
most of Granny’s closing sentence, he looked into Berry’s dark blue 
orbs, now swimming above fresh floods of crimson, and asked, ^^Is it 
all true. Berry?” 

Every word uv it. Hedge,” she answered, softly, nestling to him. 

Every word of it,” echoed Major Hardy, rising and standing 
before his son. 

Hedge thought a moment, deeply, soberly. Again that look of 
determination which sometimes set his face like marble chiselled to 
picture resolve, fixed its every line. He rose to his feet, and stood 
facing the strong man before him. With firm voice, in questioning 
tone, he asked, ‘^Granny says my mother died uv grievin’. Wuz you 
good an’ lovin’ to her all the time, kissin’ her back ag’in, like?” 

Indeed I was,” the major answered, warmly. 

‘^Then yere’s my han’. I’ll be a good son to you, — jist ez good ez 
I know how.” 

Honor your fayther an’ your mother, Hedge, that your days may 
be long in the Ian’ your pop’s given you, ez the Scripter says,” said 
Granny, solemnly, as she put her apron to her face and washed it with 
tears of joy. 

Major Hardy grasped the extended hand of Hedge and pressed it 
fervently. ^‘I know you will,” he said. And you, Berry?” He 
bent low to catch her answer. Her plump hands went up to his 
bronzed cheeks, and she drew him close that he might take it. 

As Granny and the major walked to the cabin alone. Granny gave 
her face a final wipe, and, taking him by the arm, she gave it a sturdy 
pull to rouse him from his revery. Major,” she burst out, trium- 
phantly, my oxen an’ my fatlin’s is killed ; now let’s hev a weddin’, 
ez the Scripter says.” 


THE END. 


80 


THE, DUCKS OF THE CHESAPEAKE. 


THE DUCKS OF THE CHESAPEAKE. 

A ll the world of epicures aud sportsmen joins in homage to the 
Fuligula Vallisneriana, — the canvas-back, — the largest, hand- 
somest, gamiest, and most savory of wild ducks. When the crisp 
days of autumn come, its thoughts turn longingly toward the head- 
waters of Chesapeake Bay, whither great flocks of brown-headed, 
gray-backed birds are already wending their flight, straight toward 
the vast beds of wild celery’^ upon which they hope to feast the 
long winter through. 

There is a sort of poetic justice in the fact that the instinct of the 
gourmet brings them hither, the same itching and tickling of the palate 
that affect man to their undoing. For here only is found that food 
which gives their flesh the exquisite flavor that makes it celebrated 
wherever men sing the praises of good living. This food, while com- 
monly known as ‘‘ wild celery,’^ is misnamed so, for it is really a species 
of Vallisneria. Being a fresh-water plant, it flourishes best in the 
upper parts of the Chesapeake, growing in wonderful profusion on 
the Flats’^ below the mouth of the Susquehanna, where it is nourished 
by the rich loam carried down by that river. 

The seeds of the Vallisneria have been taken from this bay and 
attempts made to grow this plant in other waters, that the one locality 
might not have a monopoly of the prized flavor ; but the conditions 
elsewhere have proved unfavorable, either from the beds of the lakes 
and rivers being too gravelly to give the roots the hold they need, or 
else from their not being provided with the same quantity and quality 
of fertilizing matter that the silt of the Chesapeake gives. And until 
this plant is made to thrive elsewhere, we may be quite sure that this 
region will retain its prestige with the canvas- back as a feeding-ground, 
and that the birds sent from here will continue to bring a much larger 
price in the epicurean market than those killed at other points. 

One who comes for the first time upon the shores of the Chesa- 
peake might well fancy that their succulent food is not the only attrac- 
tion the birds find here. The upper bay reaches its arms into all the 
counties that border it, into Harford and Baltimore and Cecil and 
Kent, presenting delightful retreats for the game, and making at the 
same time a paradise for sportsmen, for it is true that along the shores 
of these inlets are the ideal shooting-places. Add to these the broad 
expanse of the bay, itself from two to ten miles wide, over which vast 
field the blades of the Vallisneria float at low water, and under which 
are the white bulbs for which the birds dive, and you have an area 
that will accommodate many ducks and many hunters. The rugged 
contour of the hills, ribbed with granite, the rich and*fertile islands, 
the smooth and shining waters enlivened by the constant movement 
of the birds, and by the boats and gunners intent on their slaughter, 
make a scene to stir the heart of any man who knows the joys of a 
gun. 


THE DUCKS OF THE CHESAPEAKE, 


81 


In the pauses of the sport the gunner may remember, too, that this 
spot, where, as Cooper finely says, the Atlantic reaches up an arm to 
greet the Susquehanna,^^ is of some historic interest. It was visited 
and described at some length by Captain John Smith, who relates, 
among other interesting information, that at the mouth of the river he 
met with six canoes of Indians; but he does not appear to have had 
an appreciation of the finest product of these waters. Havre de Grace, 
the town from which the ducks are usually marketed, and the head- 
quarters of some of the clubs, came within a very few votes of being 
chosen the capital of the United States, when our forefathers were 
in search of a suitable location, and, escaping that honor, was burned 
by the British in the War of 1812. 

Several kinds of ducks besides the one most prized are also found 
here, and the red-heads, which are almost as large and of an excellent 
quality, can when cooked be distinguished from the other only by 
experts; consequently large numbers of these are served at hotels and 
restaurants under the name of their more esteemed comrades, and few 
are the wiser, while the proprietors are richer. To people who know 
no better, a red-head under the name of a canvas-back tastes as sweet. 
After these the black-heads, mallards, coots, and wild geese are ranked 
in the order named. While all of them are shot when opportunity is 
afforded, and all are marketable, they are not special objects of desire 
to the true sportsman. 

The breeding-places of the Chesapeake ducks are in Canada, where 
they are being destroyed in vast numbers by the cutting away of the 
forests which shelter the lakes and pools where they harbor, and by 
the use and sale of their eggs. Thousands of these eggs are annually 
marketed, and by these methods, rather than by the numbers actually 
shot, they have been greatly diminished. This condition of things 
seems to be beyond remedy, since a State cannot make a treaty with a 
foreign power, and the general government is not likely to interfere 
on behalf of what is practically a Maryland industry, or to provide 
such compensation as Canada might see fit to ask if a proposal was 
made to her to protect the ducks in their native habitat. So the 
prospect is that fifty years will see the extermination of the finest wild 
fowl in the world, and one of the most prized delicacies of the table. 

The range of the wild duck reaches almost from the Arctic to the 
Antarctic circle. It lives through the summer in the far north, in 
Greenland, Iceland, Lapland, Siberia, and, as we have shown, in 
Canada, until the time when the waters in those regions become frozen, 
so that it can no longer obtain its food. Then begins its flight south- 
ward, sometimes reaching as far as India and Egypt, and, in this 
hemisphere, the Isthmus of Panama. 

Our own particular birds begin to arrive from the north on the 
Chesapeake early in October, but are not in their finest condition until 
they have fed on the celery for a month. The shooting-season from 
sink-boxes,^^ on ‘Hhe Flats’’ below Havre de Grace, begins on the 
1st of November and lasts until April, and the days are restricted by 
law to two a week until January, and thereafter four a week, in order 
to give the game time to feed and rest, and that they may not be 
VoL. LV.— 6 


82 


THE DUCKS OF THE CHESAPEAKE. 


altogether driven away. They need rest sadly, for on shooting-days 
the banging of guns keeps them moving up and down, from one point 
to another, from dawn to dark. If you are in a fair position, where 
the view is not hindered by the islands, you can see a flight of ducks 
for a mile, after they have passed your own guns safely, — as they are 
quite likely to do, — greeted by one puff* of smoke after another, at each 
attempt to alight; when finally they will swerve into some broad clear 
space, and you will feel relieved that they have at last a chance to rest, 
especially as you did not capture them yourself. As to ^‘shore^^ shoot- 
ing, there is no restriction, with an ordinary gun, either as to season or 
days ; and you may try your chance at the first bird that comes from 
the north or at the last that lingers in the spring. But neither the 
first nor the last will give much joy to the sportsman ; for the one 
will be found lean, and the other tainted by too gluttonous feeding 
upon fish. 

The practised sportsman will need no suggestion from us as to 
arms and ammunition when he goes a-ducking ; but for the busy man 
who takes only a day oflf^^ upon the breezy shores of the Chesapeake, 
we would offer the hint that he provide himself with a No. 10 or No. 
8 gun, and with No. 4 shot. It is contrary to law to use a gun that 
cannot be held to the shoulder, and, in the interest of clubs, market- 
men, and the general protection of the game, a sharp lookout is kept 
by the special duck-police for the law-breakers, who sometimes, at 
night, float silently near the great masses of sleeping birds and pour 
murderous volleys from a swivel-gun attached to the end of the boat. 
This sort of warfare is carried on by a class of vagabondish people 
who live in cabins along the shore and gain a precarious living from 
the spoils of water and land. They are the enemies equally of the 
ducks and the sportsmen. The big guns which they use at night are 
kept hidden by day among the leaves upon the shore, and in summer, 
when not needed, are buried in the mud, so that the police who visit 
their places rarely find any evidence of their methods, although the 
facts are well known. 

In preparation for shooting from the sink-boxes’^ the fleet, com- 
posed of the yachts of clubmen and the scows” of marketmen, is 
anchored at night above the Flats until an hour before sunrise. Then 
at a signal all weigh anchor, take their chances for the best positions 
on the Flats, and, when these are selected, cast anchor for the day, sink- 
boxes being placed several hundred yards from the boats. These boxes 
look very much like two coffins put side by side, with broad aprons of 
boards attached to the edges. They are anchored and weighted so as to 
be just far enough above the water to prevent it from washing in upon 
the gunners. The decoys, which are painted wooden ducks, are then 
cast into the water near the box. Just before the first rays of light 
appear, the yachtsmen and marketmen take their places in the boxes, 
having been rowed out from yacht or scow,” and the small boats 
having been taken back again, so that nothing now appears near the 
decoys but the box, which from a little distance looks like a board 
floating on the water. The gunners lie full length upon their backs in 
the long narrow receptacles, with their guns across them, waiting for 


THE DUCKS OF THE CHESAPEAKE. 


83 


the game. The ducks begin to fly about dawn, and their approach is 
announced by the noise of their wings, or by a splash in the water if 
they happen to alight among the decoys. At the first sign the gunner 
who may be aware of their approach is expected to indicate it to his 
companion by saying quietly the words, significant in Flat^^ 

Mark down T ^The hunters then rise quickly to a sitting posture 
and fire at the birds passing overhead, or among the decoys, as the 
case may be. As the movements of the ducks are very strong and 
rapid, no time is to be lost in emptying the guns. The marketmen 
usually have ready more than one gun each, and fire away till all are 
empty. In case they have brought down any game, and some of the 
ducks are not dead (as is easily seen, for the dead one^s foot or wing 
sticks straight up out of the water), they give the ‘‘cripples’^ some 
extra shot to keep them from swimming away. Then, settling back 
into the box, they await another flight, and so continue until the men 
on the large boat, who are watching closely, find that there are enough 
ready for them to justify a trip out, when they take their oars and 
gather up the dead and pursue the crippled. 

The men who shoot for the markets will hire their outfit, consisting 
of scow, guns, ammunition, boxes, and decoys, to those who have not 
yachts of their own, furnish meals, and give their labor in the way 
of rowing, gathering up the game, and other service, for seventy-five 
to a hundred dollars a day. They count this as the value of the game 
they would capture if they themselves did the day^s shooting. Thus 
men who go only for an occasional day can be provided for, if they so 
desire. If they happen to be good shots, and it is a favorable day, 
and they care to do so, they can reimburse themselves to some extent 
by turning over to the marketmen part of their spoils. This method 
of hunting from the boxes affords the best chance for getting game, 
as they are placed right in the feeding-ground ; but shooting from a 
shore’^ has many advantages in the way of comfort. 

Some of the clubs have houses of their own, which are elegantly, 
indeed magnificently, fitted up by men from Washington, Baltimore, 
Philadelphia, and New York, who annually enjoy their outings among 
the ducks on one of the most beautiful and picturesque sheets of water 
in America. Other clubs simply establish themselves at the houses of 
farmers who possess ^^shores,^^ putting their own furniture into the 
rooms they need, and having their board at the farmers’ tables. They 
pay a stipulated price for the exclusive shooting rights on the shore,” 
for rooms, board^ carriages to and from railway, for men to place 
decoys, row them back and forth, and general service. It is the duty 
of the farmer or man at the club-house to inform the hunters by mail 
or telegraph when the ducks are flying well, and to arrange times for 
the different members who care to come together, that they may not be 
crowded. Occasionally a man who can afford it will rent a whole 
‘‘ shore” for himself, and make up a company of his friends, whom 
he invites to shoot with him. 

A shore” under one management usually includes from one-half 
to one mile, though some are much more extensive and comprise five 
or six miles. At distances of about an eighth of a mile apart blinds” 


84 


THE DUCKS OF THE CHESAPEAKE. 


are placed, usually on projecting points of land, and always at the like- 
liest places the farm affords, where the ducks have been observed to 
feed. The blind’^ consists of a frame of rough boards in the form 
of a parallelogram, a seat for three or four men, and a little gate shut- 
ting them in from behind, so that the hunters are protected on all sides 
from the wind to a degree. Around this frame the tall flags which 
abound on these shores are fastened in an upright position, so that when 
one stands up they are breast-high about him, and when he sits his 
head is considerably below their tops. These are loosely placed, that 
one may see through, imperfectly, to the decoys and to any ducks that 
may be silently swimming near, but while one is sitting still any birds 
that may be flying by find it difficult to distinguish his rush-covered 
retreat from the surrounding marsh. The shores are so covered by 
this growth that it is part of the owner’s contract to cut wide sw^aths 
through it leading to the blinds, otherwise the hunters would have 
many a dreary flounder among the tall flags, through the mud or over 
the frozen ground, to find their positions for the morning. There are 
enough of these blinds to give all the hunters a chance, two usually 
going into each, and to afford them a choice, as on some days the ducks 
fly to one point rather than to another. 

The hunter needs to be v^ry warmly clad, for in the cold morning, 
after a good breakfast, he is to take his place before daybreak where he 
is to sit still and silent waiting for his game. And the way the air 
bites along the Chesapeake on a December morning is enough to chill 
the warmest blood. So he must have extra-heavy underclothing, a 
woollen vest, good gloves, and warm slippers within his rubber boots. 
He needs a strong nerve, too, or the constant shock of his gun, if the 
ducks fly well, will give him the gun-shot headache,” which is about 
as unpleasant as sea-sickness. 

Several years ago the great floods caused the Susquehanna to carry 
down such quantities of mud that the celery was covered by it, and it 
was unable to struggle through : so that season the hunters resorted to 
a trick to bait the ducks to get them to feed at the desired points. 
They placed corn, in some instances on the ear attached to wire, and 
weighted to the bottom ; and again loose corn was put into bags with 
holes in them, and these were held to the bottom by stones, so that the 
movement of the water would shake out a few grains at a time, and 
thus the ducks were attracted to feed near the decoys. This plan 
proved so successful that it has since been commonly resorted to at 
points where there is not much of their natural food. Last season a 
large quantity of corn was emptied into the Spesutie Narrows, and so 
eager were the ducks for it that they could not be scared away. On 
one day at one point the gunners fired at them thirteen hundred times 
and secured three hundred and sixty birds. .One man, apparently the 
best shot in the party, fired one hundred and six times, securing a bird 
for each discharge. 

The ducks are still to be found in great abundance, and on days 
when the law forbids shooting acres of them are to be seen quietly 
feeding. But they are now few compared with their numbers fifty 
years ago, when the head of the bay was literally covered with them. 


THE DUCKS OF THE CHESAPEAKE. 


85 


There is a story of a novice who was being rowed by some friends 
right into the flocks, and who as the birds rose asked where he should 
shoot, and was told to fire overhead with his eyes shut, which he did 
and a fine pair of canvas-backs fell into the boat. We will not, how- 
ever, vouch for the truth of this rather dubious story. In those days, 
before the canvas-back was appreciated, employers were compelled to 
contract with laborers that they should not be fed on ducks more 
than three times a week. And when the canvas-back was eaten, it 
was the custom to use only the breast and to throw the rest away. 
Like that other great delicacy, the diamond-back terrapin, which 
seventy-five years ago, on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, was broken 
up with axes and fed to pigs, the canvas-back was awaiting the appre- 
ciative epicure to come to sing his praise and raise his price. 

The price of a pair of canvas-backs at the shore is never less than 
five dollars, and usually somewhat above that amount. They can ordi- 
narily be bought from the gunners at their boats at five dollars and 
twenty -five cents up to six dollars, except near or during the Christmas 
holidays, when it is difficult to get them for less than seven dollars per 
pair. Consequently when they are scarce the price in our cities has 
become much greater, and by the time they reach London twenty-five 
dollars a pair must be paid for them. These ducks are sent to all 
markets when plentiful, but a great many go upon special orders over 
this country and Europe. The Prince of Wales and Bismarck have 
both received ducks direct from Havre de Grace. Ward McAllister 
two years ago ordered a hundred pairs of canvas-backs from the shore, 
and we believe paid five dollars and a quarter a pair. One famous 
New York hotel advertises on its menu a service of canvas-backs for 
two, at twenty-five dollars. 

Delmonico and other great restaurateurs get their supplies direct 
from the gunners, and keep them in cold storage until needed. Large 
numbers are also carried off* by club-men, who either shoot them or 
make purchases to keep up appearances on their return home, and they 
are frequently seen making their w^ay to trains with valets carrying 
the spoils in full view. Many of these are distributed among friends 
at home to give proof of their unerring aim. So through markets, 
special orders, restaurants, and club-men the ducks are carried from 
the Chesapeake to all points where people have money to indulge in 
luxury or in appreciation of one of the finest delicacies of the table. 

The ducks are a source of revenue to a great many people in this 
region, the men who shoot for market sometimes making enough in 
the winter to keep them the rest of the year, and the farmers who have 
shores to rent making more from the club-men than their farms would 
otherwise yield them in all. Employees, boatmen, and servants come 
in for a share in the way of good wages and tips. One negro who was 
engaged at a club to attend to blinds, boats, and decoys interested the 
visitors in his prospective marriage, and received gifts of money suffi- 
cient to start him in wedded life. The riches of the waters, however, 
bring a disadvantage by producing a set of idlers who spend the rest 
of the year waiting for the spoils of the Egyptians in the form of the 
money of the club-men. 


86 


THE DUCKS OF THE CHESAPEAKE. 


In regard to the cooking of the finest ducks the greatest care has 
to be observed. They must be plucked dry, and when the intestines 
are taken out the interior should be wiped with a dry cloth, so that no 
water touches the duck from the time it is taken from its element. 
There is a difference of opinion among epicures as to whether the 
canvas-back should be in the stove fifteen or twenty minutes. And 
the disputes of the Schoolmen were not more fierce than the debates 
as to this great point. Not wishing to be sacrificed to the wrath of 
either party, we merely remark that if you prefer your bird rather raw 
you can try the fifteen- minute rule, and if you do not wish it quite so 
raw you may find twenty minutes to be the proper length of time, so 
far as you are concerned, to apply heat to this delicacy. But by no 
means enter into controversy on the subject, for if the twenty-minute 
men agreed to reduce the time to one minute, the other party would eat 
theirs without cooking at all. When cooked, little or much, it should 
be eaten with bread and butter, celery, strong sauce, and coffee, but 
without salt or pepper. The Marylanders, who consider a canvas- 
back dinner enough without other courses, serve a whole duck to each 
plate, and if it is a feast at which the gentler sex are not present, and 
where you are consequently supposed to eat after the example of the 
three who dined at Ambrose's immortal tavern, a hungry man will 
consume one and a half or two of the birds. 

We would not do complete justice to the subject of duck-hunting 
on the Chesapeake if we did not mention and give due credit to the 
“ Chesapeake dog.^^ This is a large strong spaniel that has been bred 
in Maryland and Virginia for many generations, for the special pur- 
pose of bringing in the dead or crippled birds ; and he is wonderfully 
expert as well as enthusiastic in his art. He is a noble creature, 
friendly and good to have about the house, as well as for his specialty. 
Every shore is furnished with one, and he is a necessary part of the 
equipment. 

A rather pleasant and exciting part of this sport is that of hunting 
the crippled birds toward evening. Your own and other people’s are 
swimming here and there along the shores and in the nooks of the 
islands, and you take your oarsman and guns and row after those which 
can do nothing but dive to get away. Your man rows hard to be near 
the spot where he anticipates the duck will come up again, and, as they 
can dive at the flash of the gun before the shot reaches them, you will 
have a lively time picking up, if you have as many as ten or a dozen 
cripples. 

The gunners usually shoot at all varieties, regardless of their value. 
In the evening the sorting is done ; and if you have a dozen canvas- 
backs and as many red-heads out of fifty, you feel that the proportion 
is good, and are glad of the others, which, if not so valuable, still 
count as ducks, and add to your row of birds which are strung up by 
the neck to a pole at the back of the house, for the contemplation of 
your comrades. 

The wild geese are here also in great numbers, but they are very 
shy, will not decoy, and when killed are usually very tough, so that 
little attention is paid to them. While all is grist that comes to the 


^^MRS. SANTA CLAUS.^^ 87 

mill, the canvas-back is the supreme object of the hunters^ pursuit, and 
this bird is easily king of the beautiful waters of the Chesapeake. 

The physical joys of this out-door exercise are by no means the 
least welcome part of it to many of those who visit the bay, worn by 
the confinement of offices, banks, libraries, and desks. The early start, 
the keen breezes, the glory of the light glimmering on the water as the 
sun breaks, the zest of watching for a chance as the game comes speed- 
ing through the air, the sound of the guns, the sense of the equality of 
the battle, — for the ducks, with their strong powers of flight and keen- 
ness, are well matched against the arts of man, — the sense of human 
company all over the scene, exhilarate the hunter until you would 
scarcely recognize in these merry, happy gunners the quiet plodders of 
city offices. The appetite for food under these conditions becomes re- 
markable, and men gain enough strength in the course of half a dozen 
outings, of a few days each, to carry them bravely through the toils of 
the winter. Here the President or Senator lays aside the burdens of 
state, the Wall Street man forgets about bulls and bears, the surgeon 
steadies his nerve for delicate operations, the physician repairs the waste 
of an exhausting practice, and as many tons of cares are emptied into 
the shining water as there are tons of discharged shot lying at the 
bottom among the celery. Questions of state, business worries, are 
lying there together, buried by the spell of the enchanted Chesapeake. 
Thus the canvas-backs may be classed among the benefactors, by 
making their wintering-place within such easy reach of four of our 
great cities. Thus they fulfil a double function by their existence, and 
as they speed home to Canada in the spring — as most of them do — 
they ought to take a little human satisfaction, in their summer quarters, 
in the thought that they have lightened the solicitudes and delighted 
the eyes of burdened men with their shining wings. 

Calvin Dill Wilson. 


^^MRS. SANTA CLAUS:^ 

A ND just as I was leavin’ the train I clapped my hand onto 

my coat-pocket, and I found my purse had been stole, with 
twenty dollars of my Christmas money in it ! I turned back quick 
as wink, and see the brakeman openin’ it and goin’ through it. He’d 
have made off with it in another minute, sure’s goin’. I got it back 
without givin’ him a chance to speak, and went straight up to the rail- 
road office and reported him for a thief.” 

A satisfied smile broadened Mrs. Ezra Gaines’s lips at the recol- 
lection of her own smartness, and she looked across the room at her 
husband for commendation and approval. 

But old Mr. Gaines did not speak for several moments. He beat 
a little tattoo on the arm of his easy-chair, and glanced out of the 
window at the long stretch of frosty meadows, and the frozen country 
road, which the cold gray sky foretold would soon be hidden under a 
heavy covering of snow. Then he turned his eyes back again to the 


88 


^^MRS. SANTA CLAUS.'^ 


open fireplace, where the blazing maple logs were throwing out a world 
of warmth and brightness into the room. 

‘‘It seems sort of too bad, ’Manda,’^ he said at length, with a 
little rebuke in his voice, “ to spoil anybody’s Christmas. You ain’t 
sure the man was goiu’ to steal the purse, an’ — I think I’d have let 
him go, seein’ it was the day before Christmas.” 

“ Let a thief go because it’s tlie day before Christmas !” breathed 
Mrs. Gaines, witheringly. “ I ain’t so weak and sentimental as that, 
I can tell you. And it’s fortunate I ain’t, for we wouldn’t have been 
so forehanded if I had been. Here I can’t even let you do the mar- 
ketin’, because you buy for all undeservin’ creation. Thanksgivin’ 
time, you remember, I s’pose, buyin’ the turkey for a man because he 
looked ‘ hungry,’ you said. Hungry ! It was thirsty he looked. The 
turkey he took home was a keg of beer, and a happy Thanksgivin’ 
from you with it.” 

While she spoke, she was putting on a heavy cloak and tying a 
knitted hood firmly under her chin. 

“ I’m goin’ to drive ter Danbridge now to get our Christmas dinner 
at Bradines’s, and some bundles I had sent out in his cart from the 
city, — presents for niece Jane’s children. I’m afraid to let you go, for 
if a thief stole ter-morrer’s dinner you’d let him have it because it’s the 
day before Christmas — and it might come in handy.” 

After firing off this bit of sarcasm, she left the room, and in a few 
moments the old covered democrat wagon rattled by the window, with 
Mrs. Gaines sitting up very straight and stiff alone on the single seat, 
looking the picture of indignation. 

It was a four-mile drive to Danbridge, along a straight, unfre- 
quented road, gloomy and cheerless, and Mrs. Gaines was thankful 
when she reached the village, where the excited breath of Christmas 
was already in the air. 

Bradines’s large country store ran along the main road from one 
street corner to the next, and its long line of windows was glowing 
with a soft yellow light thrown out from the kerosene lamps burning 
inside. Through the steaming panes, gay pyramids of oranges and 
apples were visible, and solid cubes of dates. Big boxes of cranberries 
were tipped towards the window to show their crimson fruit, and 
bunches of red and yellow bananas swung merrily to and fro, a gay 
bit of color among the ground-pine and evergreen suspended from the 
ceiling. On each side of the door, like a stiff little sentinel, stood 
a fir-tree. Their green branches were already powdered with white 
flakes, which came flying fiercely down from the sky, as though in a 
hurry to get the ground covered before Christmas-day came upon 
them. 

Mrs. Gaines left her carriage in the line of democrats drawn up in 
front of the store, and pushed her way through the crowd of country- 
people that were thronging the market, into its centre. 

She walked right in front of little Tilly Wiggins, — who had been 
standing by the counter for half an hour, asking the butcher at inter- 
vals of five minutes to “ please put her up two pounds of corned-beef 
and a few potatoes,” — and completely hid her from sight. 


^^MRS. SANTA CLAUSJ^ 


89 


Tilly’s patience was sorely tried. She had had a long drive from the 
other end of the town to the station for her father, who was going over 
to the store with her to buy, for once, a real Christmas dinner, and 
perhaps — oh, glorious ! — some presents for the children ! Instead of 
her father’s coming, the newspaper boy threw a note at her from him, 
which told her that he would be detained in the city until the next 
day, and asked her to buy very, very sparingly for their dinner on the 
morrow. 

And she stood in the store now, a bitterly disappointed, forlorn little 
girl, playing no part in the jolly bustle and confusion that come with 
the traffic of Christmas eve. Her face was blue and pinched with cold, 
her hands were numb, and her icy feet dragged heavily as she edged a 
little nearer the butcher, waiting for Mrs. Gaines to finish her order. 
And such an order ! Tilly could hardly believe her ears or trust her 
eyes as she listened to it and then watched the man pack the things 
into an enormous basket. A goose, a turkey, a pair of ducks, quarts 
of cranberries, bunches of celery, sweet German turnips and squashes, 
apples, oranges, grapes, nuts, raisins, holly wreaths, evergreen festoons, 
and — would there be anything left in the store? 

One by one the packages were stowed away in the basket, and 
those that wouldn’t go inside the storekeeper carried in his hand, and 
those that he couldn’t carry — for there were many bundles besides 
these, which had come from the city — he put into the errand-boy’s arm, 
and then, smiling and laughing and wishing a Merry Christmas,” he 
and his small aid took them all out for Mrs. Gaines and placed them 
in the wagon while she waited for her change. 

Then Tilly gave her own little order for their Christmas dinner. 
Coming after Mrs. Gaines’s long list of delicacies, it sounded more 
meagre than ever to her, — so unholiday-like and so miserably poor. 

As she left the store with her small package, she glanced back at 
Mrs. Gaines, standing so warmly hooded and cloaked in the centre of 
the market, with a fierce sort of envy. 

’Tain’t fair,” she sobbed as she clambered into the old democrat. 

Christmas ought ter be evened up a little, for some has all an’ others 
just nothin’.” 

The storm was raging fiercely. It was biting, piercing cold. The 
wind puffed its sharp blasts in her face, and blew clouds of icy flakes 
up her sleeves and down her neck. Old Dobbin, who had shared the 
vicissitudes of John Wiggins’s life for twenty years, shook his head at 
the blinding, cutting storm, and refused to go on. 

‘^Oh, I say,” Tilly cried, in desperation, breathing upon her cold 
little hands and beating them against her shoulders, ^^do go ahead, 
Dobbin ; be a good horse an’ git home. I’m ’most froze, an’ I can’t 
stand everythin’, you know. An’ the children will be scairt to be 
alone in the house. Do hurry up, Dobbin, and don’t worrit me any 
more.” 

Then Dobbin made a fresh start, to the surprise of his small mis- 
tress, and in an incredibly short time they reached the turn in the 
woodland road where the deserted farm-house stood, of which the 
Wigginses had taken possession the week before. ' ^ 


90 


^^MRS. SANTA CLAUS. 


The tears flooded Tilly’s eyes and her throat closed suffocatingly as 
she thought of the two children waiting for her in the cold, desolate 
cottage. 

“ I’m growed up, an’ it don’t make no difference ’bout me,” she 
said, aloud, drawing in her breath with a little sob, but they’re so 
little, and they ’ain’t ever had a Christmas dinner or a single present ! 
The only thing I can do to make it different from other days for ’em 
is ter tell ’em the story of ‘ Little Snowdrop’ every year, the way 
mother used to ; an’ that ain’t lastin’. Emmie pins an old shawl to- 
gether for a doll, and poor little Sammy has ter coast down hill on 
nothin’, coz we can’t git him a sled. They’re thin as bones, an’ they’re 
growin’ up queer and onlike children, coz they never has a good time, 
an’ it ain’t fair.” 

She dashed the tears away from her eyes with one numb little hand, 
for it would never do to let the children know that she had been 
crying. 

Dobbin lumbered clumsily into the tumble-down barn, Tilly sprang 
from the wagon to the creaking floor, and in a moment’s time her 
fingers were working stiffly at the harness. She took extra pains to 
make the poor beast comfortable in his draughty stall to-night, for the 
day of their parting was close at hand. He had pulled the peddler’s 
cart for her father for a score of years, and now his services were needed 
no longer. 

Tilly turned from him tearfully to the democrat, and put her hand 
in the back of the carriage, feeling for the small package she had 
brought with her from Bradines’s. Then she made a discovery which 
caused a tumultuous beating of her heart, and sent the blood rushing 
into her face, leaving it the next moment whiter than before. Her 
hand struck against a heap of furry evergreens, an enormous bundle, 
and the big basket whose very contents she could name over without 
a moment’s hesitation ! 

Terrified and breathless, she pulled the basket and packages from 
the wagon, and then stood silently before the tempting heap, her heart 
stirred with covetous emotions. Here was a Merry Christmas right 
in her grasp. All that she had to do was to stretch her hand out and 
take it. It was a great temptation, and was made all the greater by 
the glimpse she caught at the kitchen window of two pairs of eyes 
staring wistfully out into the darkness, and two little noses flattened 
on the cold pane. But she turned her back resolutely on the enticing 
pile, and walked hurriedly towards the cottage. 

When the children heard her approaching footsteps, they rushed to 
the door to meet her. 

‘^We didn’t burn the wood nor nothin’, Tilly,” shouted Sammy, 
hoarsely, coz we wanted ter have a blaze for you an’ popper, an’ ” 

‘‘ He took my dolly, he did, an’ made it into an ole shawl,” whim- 
pered Emmie, who had kept this grievance to herself as long as she 
could. 

Yes, Emmie was awful cross coz I pinned her dolly round her 
ter keep her warm. She hadn’t ought ter be, had she, Tilly?” said 
Sammy, reproachfully, ^‘for she w^as a-shiverin’ and a-shiverin’.” 


^^MRS. SANTA CLAVSy 


91 


Tilly gave a quick glance at the two children. They looked like a 
queer little old man and woman as they stood in the door- way, Sammy 
with one of his father^s ragged waistcoats buttoned loosely about him, 
and Emmie completely enveloped in an old red shawl, which trailed on 
the floor in a point behind her. The room was cold and damp and 
cheerless. And this was Christmas eve ! 

I kep’ a-tellin’ Emmie,’^ Sammy went on, not ter cry, coz maybe 
Santy Claus would bring her a real live doll ter-morrer, — for you 
^member you said, Tilly, perhaps, p’rhaps hekl find us this year.^^ 

^^Hefll find us an^ bring me a dolly murmured Emmie, with a 
satisfied smile. 

‘‘Is my father a-stayin^ outside, perhaps, ter show him the way?’^ 
asked Sammy, hopefully. 

“ Father ain’t a-comin’ till ter-morrer,” Tilly answered, and her 
voice was strained and choked. “ An’ we must save the wood to burn 
till then. We’ll go ter bed early an’ git nice an’ warm that way.” 

Then she sank down into a chair and put her arms around the two 
disappointed children. She did not speak again for several moments, 
but sat with her head hidden in Emmie’s yellow curls. When she 
raised it, her eyes were glistening, but there was a little gleam of hope 
shining through the tears. 

“Sammy,” she said, looking earnestly into his solemn face, “do 
you know what stealin’ is?” 

Sammy shook his head. 

“ Well, then, listen, — an’ you too, Emmie. Stealin’ is takin’ some- 
thing that belongs ter some one else, without their knowin’ it, an’ 
never givin’ it back, an’ usin’ it as if it was your own. It’s the baddest 
sort of a lie, an’ it’s wicked. A perl ice comes an’ shuts you up for 
doin' it, an’ calls you a thief. Remember now, it’s mean an’ it’s wicked 
ter steal.” 

She paused a moment. Sammy’s eyes were round with terror, and 
Emmie had crept into her sister’s lap and put both arms about her 
neck in a frightened little clasp. Tilly had unconsciously warmed to 
her subject, and her voice was stern and severe. 

“Stealin’ is mean an’ wicked,” she repeated, “ but” (here her tones 
grew bright and cheerful) borrow in^ is difierent. Borrowin’ is takin’ 
something an’ tellin’ about it, an’ givin’ it back ter the person not 
hurt a mite, jrst as you took it away. An’ so, children, out in the 
barn is a lot of Christmas-presents that Santy Claus means ter give to 
other little boys an’ girls, but I’m a-goin’ to bon^ow them for you an’ 
Emmie for just a little while ter-morrer. You can hang your stockin’s 
up, an’ they’ll be filled full in the mornin’.” 

There was a moment of dead silence; then, 

“ Tilly,” stammered Sammy, his voice trembling and his hands 
shaking with excitement, “do you — do you s^pose there’ll be a sled?” 

“ I’ll have a dolly, I will,” Emmie cried, in her bird-like voice, 
“an’ she’ll have eyes an’ hair — an’ a buddy. 

“ But you must promise, both of yer, not ter fuss when you has to 
pack the things up ter give back ter the little boys an’ girls they was 
meant for,” Tilly said, a little anxiously. 


92 


<^MRS. SANTA CLAUS: 


‘‘Course we’ll give ’em back/’ returned Sammy, stoutly, “coz it 
would be stealiu’ if we didn’t; an’ stealin’s wicked an’ mean.” 

“ Stealin’s wicked an’ mean,” repeated Emmie, softly, with a little 
shake of her yellow head. 

And then Tilly felt satisfied that the children had understood her 
small sermon. So, after putting them to bed, she stole out to the barn 
and brought all the packages into the cottage, and, with no misgivings, 
decorated the small kitchen with the Christmas greens, and filled the 
children’s stockings. 

It was late the next morning when they awoke. Nine whirring 
strokes sounded from the old clock just as they came rushing into the 
kitchen to look at their stockings. Such bulging, fat-looking ones 
never hung at a chimney-piece before. A doll’s bright eyes were 
peeping over the top of Emmie’s, just waiting to be recognized, and a 
sled, shining with paint and varnish, was leaning against Sammy’s in 
the most ostentatiously conspicuous fashion. 

Emmie christened her doll “ Tilly Snowdrop” on the spot, and 
covered her with kisses till there wasn’t a place on her stiff little body 
that had not been touched by her red lips. Sammy, quite puffed up 
by the pride of ownership, dragged his sled noisily around the room, 
and was willing to wager anything that it would beat “ole Dobbin all 
ter nuthin’.” The stockings disclosed other treasures almost as won- 
derful as these. Sammy sat on the sled and examined his gifts in 
rapturous admiration; and Emmie knelt by the hearth, dividing the 
pleasure of hers with Tilly Snowdrop. They laughed and chattered 
as merrily as good old Santa Claus could have wished, and sister Tilly, 
watching their happy faces, blessed the “ woman in the long cloak” for 
putting this bit of Christmas in her reach. 

It was a royal good time — while it lasted. Poor Tilly felt like an 
executioner when she put an end to this Merry Christmas. She took 
the evergreen festoons from the dingy walls and rolled them up in a 
little heap. She unpinned the holly wreaths from the ice-covered 
windows and laid them beside it. Then she turned slowly, and said, 
with an effort at cheerfulness, — 

“ An’ now you must put away the things, and let the other little 
boys and girls that they belongs to have a good time with ’em like you 
have. I’ll take ’em to ’em now, an’ tell ’em all about it.” 

For a second the old room grew as still as midnight. The childish 
voices and gay laughter ceased instantly. And in their places came 
the rustling of stiff paper and the snap of twine, as Tilly wrapped 
each gift in its original covering and laid it carefully on the table. 
The dolly and sled were left till the last. Emmie gave a little sob as 
she whispered a “ good-by” to Tilly Snowdrop, and a big tear dropped 
on its rosy cheek and was quickly absorbed by the paper covering. 
Sammy himself stoically wrapped the brown paper about the sled, and 
not a tear glistened in his eye nor a sob choked his throat. But when 
it was quite hidden from sight he looked up at Tilly solemnly, and 
said, in a queer little voice, — 

“Stealin’s mean an’ wicked ; but borrowin^ ain’t no fun.” 

The words were scarcely out of his lips, when the porch door 


^^MRS, SANTA CLAUS,^\ 


93 


behind them opened, and the tall woman in the long cloak’’ stepped 
into the room. 

Tilly jumped up with a start, and then advanced to meet her rather 
stiffly. A hard little look came into her face as she pointed to the 
parcels on the kitchen table : 

These are yours, ma’am, I know. They was given to me by 
mistake, and I only borrowed ’em for a few minutes to show the chil- 
dren what Christmas is to some. We didn’t touch your dinner, ma’am, 
and these things ain’t hurt a bit, for the children only looked at ’em. 
But I made a mistake, ma’am. They never knew before what Christ- 
mas was, and it’ll be worse for ’em now they does.” 

Then slie raised her eyes and looked soberly up into Mrs. Gaines’s 
face. But her visitor had apparently not heard a word of the poor 
little speech. 

When she had discovered her loss the night before, with her usual 
quick decision she had pronounced it a ‘Hheft.” And, remembering 
the covetous glances Tilly had cast upon her purchases at the store, she 
immediately selected her as the thief. Then, with a true detective 
zeal, she proved this to herself by finding out that the Wigginses’ old 
democrat had been drawn up close beside hers in front of Bradines’s 
market. These facts were enough. Without heeding her husband’s 
remonstrances, she took an early drive over to the Wigginses’ in the 
morning, intending to enter suddenly upon the revelling family and 
terrify them by her presence. She stood outside their door a long 
time, and as she listened to the children’s conversation the stern re- 
proving look on her face turned to one of tender remorse. She seized 
Emmie and Sammy in her arms the moment after she entered the 
room, and stood them both on the table in front of her. 

Then her quick fingers untied the knotted twine and tore the 
WTapping- paper from the toys ; and before they had recovered their 
breath, Emmie was hugging her doll, and Sammy grasping the string 
of his sled as if he never meant to let it go out of his hands again. 

Hurray !” he cried, not understanding the meaning of all this, 
but feeling someway that it was a time to be jolly. It was a feeble 
little cheer, — the first he had ever given, — but it gave birth to a whole 
line of hurrays, each one lustier and merrier than the one before it. 

These presents are all for you from Santa Claus, my — er — my 
dears,” said Mrs. Gaines, a little awkwardly. And he’s sorry he 
forgot you before, and he wishes you a Merry Christmas.” 

Emmie looked shyly into Mrs. Gaines’s face, and, after a little 
hesitation, said, persuasively, — 

Good old Mrs. Santy Claus, please ter ask your husband to come 
with you hisself next time, for, just think, I ’ain’t never seen him once, 
truly.” 

The fireplace in the tiny room next to the kitchen was filled with 
blazing pine sticks, and a ruddy glow shone on the frosty window- 
panes, attracting John Wiggins’s attention as he neared his home this 
Christmas noon. When he opened the outer door and stepped into 
the kitchen, he put his hand up to his head in a dazed sort of way, 


94 


^^MRS. SANTA CLAUS. 


and stood perfectly still, staring blankly at a strange woman who was 
kneeling before the oven door, busily engaged in basting an enormous 
turkey. 

The fire in the well-blacked stove was doing its best to rival the 
one in the sitting-room. Its intense heat caused the tea-kettle to sing 
lustily, and made savory steam rise in thick clouds from the iron pots 
that Mled every place on the top of the stove. From the room beyond 
came the tooting of horns, blowing of whistles, squealing and squeak- 
ing of toy animals, and, above everything, the ringing of gay laughter 
and childish voices. 

In the midst of this din and uproar, John Wiggins’s quiet entrance 
had not been observed by Mrs. Gaines, and when she chanced to glance 
up from the turkey and caught sight of him standing by the door she 
rose with a quick start. They stared at each other blankly for a 
moment, and then a gleam of recognition expressed itself on each 
face. 

Mrs. Gaines quailed before the look of righteous anger that flashed 
from John Wiggins’s honest eyes. Then she straightened herself with 
a determined effort, and walked courageously towards him. 

Mr. Wiggins, — for you’re him, I suppose, — I done a mean act to 
you yesterday,” she said, going at once to the point, as was her custom. 

And I’m sorry for it. I was tired out an’ cross-grained, and that 
made me hasty to judge. You didn’t intend ter steal my purse, I 
know ” 

I was lookin’ through it ter find a name,” interrupted the man, 
simply, but with the proud assurance of one whose word was never 
doubted. 

— An’ I’ll go to the railroad office and make it all right ter- 
morrow,” she continued, if I do prove to that parcel of men there 
that women are as big fools as they seemed to think ’em. Now, Mr. 
Wiggins, don’t lay it up against me, and turn me out of your house, 
for if you do you’ll spoil your children’s Merry Christmas — an’ mine 
too,” she added, earnestly. 

Then she took him by the arm and pushed him towards the sitting- 
room door. Tilly’ll tell you all about it. Go in to her an’ the chil- 
dren now, and laugh and be jolly with them till I git your dinner 
smokin’ hot on the table.” 

Am I — wanderin’, or is this real ?” asked John Wiggins, looking 
at her bewildered. Who — who are you ?” 

‘‘ ^ Mrs. Santa Claus,’ ” she answered, laughing and dropping an 
old-fashioned courtesy as she threw open the door and pushed him into 
the room, gay with its holiday decorations and glowing fire. He was 
seized at once by three pairs of arms and nearly strangled, and the 
shouts of Merry Christmas” rang in his ears, and floated out to Mrs. 
Gaines as she stood in the little kitchen. Her eyes filled with tears 
and her voice was husky when she echoed the cry, and she whispered 
softly to herself, — 

Bless the day !” 


Marjorie Richardson, 


THE YULE CHARM. 


95 


THE YULE CHARM. 

I HAD a blessed visitor last night. 

The crisp stars sparkled, and the moon’s strange light 
Lay on the snowy roofs. The shadows black 
’Neath hanging eaves and jutting walls drew back 
And seemed to nod and beckon. Bare, still trees 
’Gainst luminous skies wrote their weird traceries. 

And earth’s white page their mystic runes repeated. 

Those soundless rhymes my wakening memory greeted. 

The still world rested from its whirling flight 
Beneath the charm of that enchanted night ; 

Then slowly grew its mystery mine, for, lo ! 

Instead of my world-wisdom and its woe, 

My child-heart stood beside me, wandered back, 

I know not by what spell, what unseen track. 

From all its hidden years, its crypt unsealed, 

With all the wounds I thought had killed it, healed. 

On yonder bough a great white trembling star 
Hung as in reach. Soft angels seemed not far. 

The silence echoed elfin laughter sweet ; 

The roofs re-echoed pattering reindeer feet. 

Dead dreams awaked, the old power to believe 

And love, and life’s dull loss retrieve 

With doubling hopes. A gift of strange, sweet strength 

My child-heart brought me for the year’s hard length, — 

A gift that waiteth in the starlit snow for all 

Who seek the simple heart of this great Festival : 

Pure as the winter snows without, 

Warm as the glowing Yule within, 

I am come back to thy cold doubt. 

The searing fire of thy world-sin. 

Yield me my birthright in thy heart. 

And thy Yule joy shall ne’er depart! 

This is the secret of the night : 

To thee, the Eternal child is born !” 

Renew thy young heart’s fresh delight. 

Drop thy world’s yoke, so proudly worn. 

Lo I harm forbore the worshipped Child, 

Yet was the holiest Man reviled. 

The moonlight waits, the crisp, keen air. 

The trees’ fine shadows on the snow ; 


96 


CHRISTMAS CUSTOMS AND SUPERSTITIONS. 


Sweet laughter, if thy friends shall fare ; 

Charm^ silence, if alone thou go. 

Wide, blessed world ! what narrow care 
Canst thou not lose, nor miss it, there ? 

ThouMt keep the inner glow and cheer 

And warmth for cold, starved souls to share ; 

Thy holiday the good, round year; 

Thy tree perennial gifts shall bear ; 

Brave mirth thouMt make of shadows all 
That dance athwart life’s festival. 

Thou shalt recall the quaint, lost tongue 
Of silver stars and bright- eyed beasts. 

The ‘‘ Peace — Good will^’ old bells have rung 
To dullM ears at hollow feasts 
Through centuries, shall sound for thee 
The key-note of life’s melody. 

Thine the child-grace to touch again 
With equal love the toil-grimed hand 
And brow of thought ; through garbs of men 
To guess their hearts and understand ; 

Strange wisdom and sweet faith to blend, — 

Shepherd and king thine equal friend. 

Thine, childhood’s charm and heaven’^s joy, — 

The full, glad present to employ ; 

The past — like snows of winters gone. 

The future — a vast, noonless dawn ; 

Lo ! even the shadow of thy cross and tomb shall be 
But the forecast of thy bright immortality. 

M. S. Paden, 


CHRISTMAS CUSTOMS AND SUPERSTITIONS. 

*Twas Christmas broached the mightiest ale, 

^Twas Christmas told the merriest tale ! 

A Christmas gambol oft could cheer 
A poor man’s heart through half the year. 

Scott, 

C ROWDING in the train of Old Christmas are customs and super- 
stitions that have endured since the pagan Briton worshipped 
under his oak-tree, and the hardy Saxon feasted in honor of Thor, or 
the Roman broke forth in wildest orgies during the Saturnalia. 

The Yule-tide transports us to the cherished feast of the Teutonic 
races, when Freyer, or Fro, the sun-god, awoke and lighted up his 
wheel once more. 

Our Anglo-Saxon ancestors sang to the Christmas boar-head, just 


CHRISTMAS CUSTOMS AND SUPERSTITIONS. 


97 


as did the valiant Norsemen. Just why the boards head was the dish 
of honor at this midwinter feast is hard to determine: might it not be 
because it was a boar that drew Freyer’s ship, Skidbladnir, over the 
woods and meadows, making light all the dark places by his golden 
bristles ? 

The Romans held a feast at this season in honor of the birth of 
Mithras and the return of the sun with life-giving rays. 

The Saxons called their midwinter feast Motlier Night, parent of 
all other nights, also Yule. The midwinter feast, wherever celebrated, 
was distinguished by excessive revelry, feasting, etc. 

The Christianization of the pagan resulted in the engrafting of his 
customs on the Christian celebration, frequently quite obscuring its 
holier significance. 

When Pope Gregory sent Saint Augustine to convert Saxon Eng- 
land, he directed him to accommodate, as far as possible, Christian to 
heathen ceremonies, that the people might not be startled, and in par- 
ticular he advised him to allow them on certain festivals to kill and 
eat a great number of oxen to the glory of God the Father, as they 
had formerly done in honor of the devil. 

On the Christmas next after his arrival he baptized many thousands, 
and permitted the usual celebration, only prohibiting the intermingling 
of Christians and pagans in the dances. From these early pagan- 
Christian ceremonies are derived many English holiday customs. 

The custom of decorating the houses with evergreens is very ancient. 
The Jews practised it in the Feast of Tabernacles, a feast very like our 
Christmas. 

The world-tree, Yggdrasil, of the Scandinavians was an evergreen, 
stretching its branches to the uttermost parts of the earth, its topmost 
boughs to heaven, its roots to hell. 

The green of the pagan and ancient Jewish festivals seems most 
appropriate at the feast in honor of the one whose name is the 
Branch. 

The favorite evergreens of the Saxons were ivy, holly, bays. 


Whosoever against holly do cry 
In a rope shall be hung full high. 

Alleluia! 

Get ivy and hull (holly), woman, deck up thine house. 

Aubrey cites a curious custom of Oxfordshire. The maid-servant 
was wont to ask the man for ivy to trim the house, and if he refused, 
or neglected it, a pair of his breeches were stolen and nailed upon the 
gateway. 

The holly was the most prized of all the evergreens. Dr. Turner 
calls it holy, and holy-tree. 

The mistletoe also belongs to Christmas. Its very mention carries 
one back past the Druids to ^neas, who could descend to Avernus 
only if he bore to Proserpine the golden-ray ed plant.^^ With what 
eagerness he sought its hiding-place among the dark foliage of the 
twofold tree^^ ! With what joy he plucked it, his open sesame to the 
infernal regions ! 

VoL. LY.—7 


98 


CHRISTMAS CUSTOMS AND SUPERSTITIONS. 


What pictures it recalls of ancient Druids going in solemn proces- 
sion for the annual cutting on the sixth day of the moon nearest the 
New Year, the officiating priest, clad in white robes, bearing a golden 
sickle with which to detach the plant, which was reverently received 
on a white cloth. To add to the solemnity, bulls, and even human 
victims, were offered in its honor. 

It was supposed to keep away the witches, and the people accord - 
ingly paid the Druids handsomely for a bit of the precious plant to 
hang about the neck for a charm. There is an old superstition that 
holding the mistletoe in the hand will not only enable a person to see 
ghosts, but will force them to speak to him. Vallence says it was held 
sacred because its berries grew in clusters of three. It has changed its 
mystic power with respect to witches, for one standing to-day under its 
golden green has drawn to her kisses, one for every leaf. 

It has not been a great number of years since one might have seen, 
in certain sections of the United States, children and young people cir- 
cling about the hearthstone where the mistletoe was to tell somebody’s 
fortune. Two leaves were placed upon the stone in front of the blazing 
fire, and any one desiring to know if he or she was loved had but to 
name the leaves for himself and his beloved. This he might do pri- 
vately, and thus spare his feelings if the fortune was adverse. When 
the leaves began to shrivel under the influence of the heat, they moved 
or jumped,’’ as chanced, either farther apart or nearer together. Then 
it was the old story of the marguerites over again, He loves me, he 
loves me not.” 

Kissing beneath the mistletoe dates from the Druids. According 
to tradition, the maid not kissed beneath the mistletoe at Christmas goes 
husbandless another year. 

One of the most delightful and important of the Christmas cere- 
monies was the bringing in of the Yule-log. According to an English 
writer, this was a massive piece of wood, frequently the rugged and gro- 
tesquely marked root of a tree. 

A pleasant picture this of the Yule-log being drawn through the 
forest with shouting and laughter, while each wayfarer reverently 
salutes it, since he knows it to be full of good promises and that in its 
flames will be burnt out old wrongs and heart-burnings. As it comes 
into the great hall, the living-room of the old castle, each member of 
the family sits upon or salutes it in turn, and sings a Yule-song, after 
which all drink to a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. A 
favorite Yule-song began with, — 

Welcome be ye that are here, 

Welcome all, and make good cheer, 

Welcome all, another year. 

Welcome Yule. 

Those tending the Yule-log were careful to bear in mind, — 

Part must be kept wherewith to teende 
The Christmas log next yeare. 

And where ’tis safely kept, the fiend 
Can do no mischiefe theere. 


CHRISTMAS CUSTOMS AND SUPERSTITIONS. 


99 


The chief crown of the festival was the wassail bowl. There is a 
story that the first wassail in England was offered by Rowena, daughter 
of Hengist, to the British king Vortigern, with the salute, Lord 
King, wassheil,^^ to which he responded, Drinc heil,’^ and saluted 
her. The sequel to this story is the marriage of Rowena to the British 
king. 

The worshippers of Thor and Odin drank largely to their gods, and 
when converted drank as generously to the Virgin, apostles, and saints, 
by and by honoring in their potations one another : thus drinking 
healths originated. 

Mention is made in Shakespeare’s plays of wassel.’’ In Hamlet,” 
the king takes his rouse, keeps wassail, and the swaggering up-spring 
reels,” — a custom which, Hamlet scornfully observes, is ‘^more honored 
in the breach than the observance.” 

The Britons were justly celebrated both for their capacity for drinks 
and for their skill in originating them. The early drinks were wine, 
mead, cider, ale, pigment, clarre, and hippocras. Ale was especially 
esteemed. 

The nut-brown ale, the nut-brown ale, 

Puts down all drinks when it is stale. 

The jolly wandering musicians confidently expected a black-jack 
of ale and a Christmas pie. 

A remnant of the English wassail seems to have drifted to us in 
the Christmas eggnog. Not more than two decades ago, the mistress 
of many an American home was wont to rise before daybreak and with 
the help of her maids prepare a huge bowl of eggnog, of which each 
member of the family drank, servants as well, and to which each chance 
guest of the Christmas morn was invited. 

Not many years ago, the entire Christmas week was generally con- 
sidered a period of feasting and revelry through many of the United 
States, although never extending to Twelfth Night, as in England since 
the days of King Alfred. 

There are many superstitions connected with the coming of Christ- 
mas itself. To the cock have from time immemorial been attributed 
unwonted energy and sagacity at that season. Even now it is common 
to hear one say, when he is heard crowing in the stillness of the No- 
vember and December nights, The cock is crowing for Christmas.” 
He is supposed to do this for the purpose of scaring off the evil 
spirits from the holy season. 

The bees were said to sing, the cattle to kneel, in honor of the 
manger, and the sheep to go in procession in commemoration of the 
visit of the angel to the shepherds. 

Howison, in his Sketches of Upper Canada,” relates that on one 
moonlit Christmas eve he saw an Indian creeping cautiously through 
the woods. In response to an inquiry, he said, Me watch to see 
deer kneel. Christmas night all deer kneel and look up to Great 
Spirit.” 

An English writer says that two countrymen who watched the cattle 
in the barns reported that two only knelt, but they fell upon their knees 


100 


CHRISTMAS CUSTOMS AND SUPERSTITIONS. 


with a groan almost human. They were much angered that he received 
this story with incredulity. 

These well-known lines from Hamlet’^ recognize these superstitions : 

Some say that ever Against that season comes, 

Wherein our Saviour’s birth is celebrated, 

The bird of dawning singeth all night long; 

And then, they say, no spirit can walk abroad ; 

The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike, 

No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, 

So hallowed and so gracious is that time. 

The salmon was a great Christmas favorite, and Sandys mentions 
a Monmouthshire tradition to the effect that on every Christmas day, 
in the morning only, a large salmon appeared in the adjoining river, 
showed himself openly, and permitted himself to be taken and handled ; 
but it would have been the greatest impiety to capture him. 

Popular rhymes did not omit the 

sammon, king of fish 

That fills with good cheere the Christmas dish. 

A Christmas dinner in those ancient days was a meal massive be- 
yond our comprehension. Only by comparison can we estimate its 
proportions. 

In Gervase Markham’s English Housewife” is a bill of fare, oft 
quoted, for an ordinary friendly dinner, to which the imagination may 
add the fitting accompaniments for the king of dinners.” 

First course, sixteen full dishes : “ a shield of brawn, with mustard ; 
a boiled capon; boiled beef; a rested chine of beef; a neat’s tongue, 
rested ; a pig, rosted ; baked chewets ; a goose, rested ; a swan, rested ; 
a turkey, rosted ; a haunch of venison, rosted ; a kid with a pudding 
inside; a pasty of venison; an olive pye; a couple of capons; a 
custard.” 

To these add sallets, fricases, quelque choses, and devised paste, 
as many dishes more to make the full service thirty-two dishes,” which 
the housewife is admonished is ^‘as much as can conveniently stand on 
one table and in one mess, and after this manner you may proportion 
your second and third courses, holding fullness in one half of the dishes, 
and show on the other which will be both frugal in the splendor, con- 
tentment to the guest, and pleasure to the beholder.” 

The English gentlemen were wont to repair to their country-houses 
and keep open house at this season, ‘‘when good logs furnished the hall 
fire, when brawn is in season, and all revelling regarded, and beefe, 
beere, and bread was no niggard.” Care was taken to provide “a 
noyse of minstrells, and a Lincolnshire bagpipe.” 

“ Mummeries” were known very early in England, and were doubt- 
less a remnant of the Roman Saturnalia, when men and women went 
about the streets dressed to represent all manner of cattle and wild 
beasts. 

In the English country-houses disguises were provided for the 
guests. In 1348, at Otford, in Kent, there were furnished fourteen 


YESTERDAY, 


101 


dragons^ heads, fourteen swans’ heads with wings, fourteen pheasants’ 
heads with wings, and numerous mummers’ tunics trimmed with gold 
and silver stars. Another year the heads were of wild beasts. 

To take the place of the old heathen frolics, there were provided, 
under the auspices of the clergy, plays and mysteries, these being dis- 
tinguished by the hidden or revealed meaning. These plays set forth 
the miraculous acts of the saints. Many farcical passages were intro- 
duced to enliven their monotony, often making them highly irreverent. 
In the Chester mysteries, Noah’s wife absolutely declines to enter the 
ark without her gossip, and strengthens her avowal by swearing by 
Mary, St. John, and Christ ; when finally drawn in, she deals Noah 
a hearty box on the ear. These plays held their ground until the days 
of Shakespeare. 

For a bit of spice in any recital of old English habits, nothing 
equals an extract from Pepys’s Diary, and the following, from Christ- 
mas Day, 1665,” is appropriate here: 

To church in the morning, and there saw a wedding in the church, 
which I have not seen this many a day, and the young people so merry 
one with another. And strange to see what delight w^e married people 
have to see these poor fools decoyed into our condition, every man and 
woman gazing and smiling at them.” 

Space forbids a description of the Christmas pie, which our modern 
mince-pie has entirely superseded. The Puritans would have none of 
the Christmas pie, declaring, — 

All plums the prophet^s sons deny, 

And spice-broths are too hot : 

Treason’s in a December pie, 

And death within the pot. 

The Christmas revels came to an end with Twelfth Night, second 
only to Christmas in splendor of celebration, and with a sigh of relief, 
perhaps, and a pang of regret likewise, the spirit of the old Scotch 
rhyme fell upon all : 

Yule’s come, and Yule’s gane. 

And we hae feasted weel ; 

Sae Jock maun to his flail again. 

And Jenny to her wheel. 

Elizabeth Ferguson Seat, 


YE8TERDA Y. 

T O remember the tender foreknowledge of morn, at the even. 

To long for the treasures desired upon earth, when in heaven. 
Were as easy as seeking to joy in love-bliss and love-token 
When a ripple has passed and the face of the dream has been broken. 

Alice Brown, 


102 


MRS. RISLEV^S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


MRS. RISLEY^S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 

S HE was an old, old woman. She was crippled with rheumatism 
and bent with toil. Her hair was gray, — not that lovely white 
that softens and beautifies the face, but harsh, grizzled gray. Her 
shoulders were round, her chest was sunken, her face had many deep 
wrinkles. Her feet were large and knotty; her hands were large, too, 
with great hollows running down their backs. And how painfully the 
cords stood out in her old, withered neck ! 

For the twentieth time she limped to the window and flattened her 
face against the pane. It w^as Christmas day. A violet sky sparkled 
coldly over the frozen village. The ground was covered with snow; 
the roofs were white with it. The chimneys looked redder than usual 
as they emerged from its pure drifts and sent slender curls of electric- 
blue smoke into the air. 

The wind was rising. Now and then it came sweeping down the 
hill, pushing a great sheet of snow, powdered like dust, before it. The 
window-sashes did not fit tightly, and some of it sifted into the room 
and climbed into little cones on the floor. Snow-birds drifted past, 
like soft, dark shadows ; and high overhead wild geese went sculling 
through the yellow air, their mournful hawnk-e-hawnk-hawnk’^s 
sinking downward like human cries. 

As the old woman stood with her face against the window and her 
weak eyes strained down the street, a neighbor came to the door. 

“ Has your daughter an^ her fambly come yet, Mis’ Risley ?” she 
asked, entering sociably. 

Not yet,” replied Mrs. Risley, with a good attempt at cheerful- 
ness; but her knees suddenly began shaking, and she sat down. 

Why, she’d ought to V come on the last train, hadn’t she?” 

Oh, I do’ know. There’s a plenty o’ time. Dinner won’t be 
ready tell two past.” 

‘‘She ain’t b’en to see you fer five year, has she?” said the neigh- 
bor. “ I reckon you’ll have a right scrumptious set-out fer ’em ?” 

“ I will so,” said Mrs. Risley, ignoring the other question. “ Her 
husband’s cornin’.” 

“I want to know. Why, he just thinks he’s some punkins, I 
hear.” 

“ Well, he’s rich enough to think hisself anything he wants to.” 
Mrs. Risley’s voice took on a tone of pride. 

“I sh’u’d think you’d want to go an’ live with ’em. It’s oflful 
hard fer you to live here all alone, with your rheumatiz.” 

Mrs. Risley stooped to lay a stick of wood on the fire. 

“ I’ve worked nigh onto two weeks over this dinner,” she said, 
“a-seed’n’ raisins an’ cur’nts, an’ things. I’ve hed to skimp harrable, 
Mis’ Tomlinson, to get it; but it’s just — perfeG\ Roast goose an’ 
cranberry sass, an’ cel’ry soup, an’ mince an’ pun kin pie, — to say nothin’ 
o’ plum-puddin’ ! An’ cookies an’ cur’nt-jell tarts fer the children. 


MRS. RISLEV’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 103 

I’ll hev to wear my old underclo’s all winter to pay fer ’t ; but I don’t 
care.” 

sh’u’d think your daughter’d keep you more comf’terble, seein’ 
her husband’s so rich.” 

There was a silence. Mrs. Risley’s face grew stern. The gold- 
colored cat came and arched her back for a caress. My bread riz 
beautiful,” Mrs. Risley said then. I worried so over ’t. An’ my 
fruit-cake smells that good when I open the stun crock ! I put a hull 
cup o’ brandy in it. Well, I guess you’ll hev to excuse me. I’ve got 
to set the table.” 

When Mrs. Tomlinson was gone, the strained look came back to 
the old woman’s eyes. She went on setting the table, but at sound of 
a wheel, or a step even, she began to tremble and put her hand behind 
her ear to listen. 

^^It’s funny they didnH come on that last train,” she said. I 
w’u’dn’t tell her, though. But they’d ort to be here by this time.” 

She opened the oven door. The hot, delicious odor of its precious 
contents gushed out. Did ever goose brown so perfectly before? And 
how large the liver was ! It lay in the gravy in one corner of the big 
dripping-pan, just beginning to curl at the edges. She tested it care- 
fully with a little three-tined iron fork. 

The mince-pie was on the table, waiting to be warmed, and the 
pumpkin-pie was out on the back porch, — from which the cat had 
been excluded for the present. The cranberry sauce, the celery in its 
high, old-fashioned glass, the little bee-hive of hard sauce for the pud- 
ding, and the thick cream for the coffee, bore the pumpkin-pie com- 
pany. The currant jelly in the tarts glowed like great red rubies set 
in circles of old gold ; the mashed potatoes were light and white as 
foam. 

For one moment, as she stood there in the savory kitchen, she 
thought of the thin, worn flannels, and of how much better her rheu- 
matism would be with the warm ones which could have been bought 
with the money spent for this dinner. Then she flushed with self- 
shame. 

‘‘ I must be gittin’ childish,” she exclaimed, indignantly ; to 
begredge a Chris’mas dinner to ^Lizy. ’S if I hedn’t put up with old 
underclo’s afore now ! But I will say there ain’t many women o’ my 
age thet c’u’d git up a dinner like this ^n’, — rheumatiz an’ all.” 

A long, shrill whistle announced the last train from the city. Mrs. 
Risley started and turned pale. A violent trembling seized her. She 
could scarcely get to the window, she stumbled so. On the way she 
stopped at the old walnut bureau to put a lace cap on her white hair 
and to look anxiously into the mirror. 

‘‘ Five year !” she whispered. It’s an offul spell to go without 
seein’ your only daughter ! Everything’ll seem mighty poor an’ 
shabby to her, I reckon, — her old mother worst o’ all. I never sensed 
how I’d changed tell now. My ! how no-account I’m a-gittin’ ! I’m 
all of a trimble !” 

Then she stumbled on to the window and pressed her cheek against 
the pane. 


104 


EMPRESS JOSEPHINE’S HAPPY DAY, 


They’d ort to be in sight now/’ she said. But the minutes went 
by, and they did not come. 

Mebbe they’ve stopped to talk, meetin’ folks,” she said, again. 

But they’d ort to be in sight now.” She trembled so she had to get a 
chair and sit down. But still she wrinkled her cheek upon the cold 
pane and strained her dim eyes down the street. 

After a while a boy came whistling down from the corner. There 
was a letter in his hand. He stopped and rapped, and when she 
opened the door with a kind of frightened haste, he gave her the letter 
and went away, whistling again. 

A letter ! Why should a letter come ? Her heart was beating in 
her throat now, — that poor old heart that had beaten under so many 
sorrows ! She searched in a dazed way for her glasses. Then she fell 
helplessly into a chair and read it : 

^^Dear Mother, — I am so sorry we cannot come, after all. We 
just got word that Robert’s aunt has been expecting us all the time, 
because we’ve spent every Christmas there. We feel as if we must go 
there, because she always goes to so much trouble to get up a fine 
dinner; and we knew you wouldn’t do that. Besides, she is so rich ; 
and one has to think of one’s children, you know. We’ll come sure 
next year. With a merry, merry Christmas from all, 

Eliza.” 

It was hard work reading it, she had to spell out so many of the 
words. After she had finished, she sat for a long, long time motion- 
less, looking at the letter. Finally the cat came and rubbed against 
her, “ myowing” for her dinner. Then she saw that the fire had 
burned down to a gray, desolate ash. 

She no longer trembled, although the room was cold. The wind 
was blowing steadily now. It was snowing, too. The bleak Christ- 
mas afternoon and the long Christmas night stretched before her. Her 
eyes rested upon the little fir-tree on a table in one corner, with its gilt 
balls and strings of popcorn and colored candles. She could not bear 
the sight of it. She got up stiffly. 

Well, kitten,” she said, trying to speak cheerfully, but with a 
pitiful break in her voice, let’s go out an’ eat our Chris’mas dinner.” 

Ella Higginson, 


EMPRESS JOSEPHINE’S HAPPY DAY. 

J UST ninety years since, on December 2, 1804, Napoleon crowned 
himself Emperor and Josephine Empress of the French. 

Never was there in the great and beautiful cathedral of Notre Dame 
a more gorgeous assembly. Church and state congregated there, and 
the people thronged to witness the great sight. The silent walls of the 
cathedral echoed the voices of twenty thousand spectators as they cried. 


EMPRESS JOSEPHINE ^S HAPPY DAY. 105 

Long live the Emperor and resounded again and again as the three 
hundred musicians intoned Abb6 Rose’s hymn, Vivat Imperator.” 

They were the same walls that had echoed the Te Deums for all 
the nation’s victories, that had heard kings’ funeral orations pro- 
nounced, that had witnessed the shameless Goddess of Reason reign, 
and had heard innumerable litanies sung and masses celebrated. 

Many things have passed away, proudest fames have vanished, but 
the cathedral remains. The rosy light glints through its windows 
to-day on a peacefully worshipping congregation. The republic is 
regnant. Kings and emperors lie in the sealed vaults, their sway 
but a memory. The dust of the Conqueror, according to his wish, lies 
in the city and among the people he loved so well. That costly tomb 
is not far from the cathedral where he was crowned ; but what line 
can measure the distance between Napoleon the crowned Emperor 
beside Josephine, and Napoleon the returned exile all alone? 

The span of ninety years is short as we look back, forgetting the 
interim, on that famous scene. 

The day was cold, and the sky changeful, as though to foreshadow 
the fickleness and vanity of man’s proud splendor. Early in the morn- 
ing vast throngs of citizens gathered in the streets and crowded the 
windows and balconies. 

At nine the pontifical procession started for Notre Dame. Lead- 
ing, according to tradition, was a chamberlain mounted on a mule and 
carrying a great cross. Then came Pope Pius VII., clad in white, 
seated in a carriage guarded by cavalry and accompanied by eight 
carriages in which were dignitaries of the Church. They reached the 
cathedral, and proceeded to the altar in regular order and with great 
pomp, while more than a hundred clergy intoned the hymn Tu es 
Petrus.” The Pope seated himself on the pontifical throne, and 
awaited Napoleon. 

When Napoleon entered, loud bursts of applause rent the air. 
Forgotten was all the spilt blood, forgotten or hushed were memories 
of the First Consul. The spectators were fascinated by the little great 
man clad in white satin embroidered in gold, with a regal cloak of 
crimson velvet covered with golden bees and bordered with olive- 
branches, oak, and laurel. Ermine edged the mantle and formed the 
cape. On his neck gleamed the diamond necklace of the Legion of 
Honor, and on his head was a Caesar’s crown of golden laurel. Princes 
and dignitaries attended him, and he moved with stately tread. 

The Empress, always lovely, appeared in a silver brocade em- 
broidered with golden bees. Pink gems glistened in her gold girdle 
and mingled with the antique cameos on her neck and arms. Her 
diadem was pearl-laden, twined with diamonds. At her shoulders 
was fastened an ermine-lined red velvet train covered with bees, and 
held by the Princesses Eliza, Pauline, Charlotte, Joseph, and Louis. 
David received the royal order to transmit this day’s glory to future 
ages. The subject was manifold ; each act in the drama deserved 
to be guarded for future generations to look upon and ponder. But 
the artist gallantly chose to paint Napoleon in the act of crowning 
Josephine. 


106 


EMPRESS JOSEPHINE’S HAPPV DAY. 


As we look at it in Versailles, we are glad we have this picture of 
Napoleon. Indelibly linked with his glorious memory is the thought 
of the woe he caused; volumes have been written telling of his in- 
fidelity, but here before our eyes we see the affectionate husband, the 
glad beating of the heart scarce hidden by the Emperor’s cloak, as he 
joyously crowns the never more gracious and lovely Josephine. His 
words to David are sincere : ‘‘ It is good, David, very good. You 
have divined all my thought; you have made me a French knight. 
I thank you for transmitting to ages to come the proof of affection I 
wanted to give to her who shares with me the pains of government.” 

And we know that tears of joy came to Josephine’s eyes as her lord 
placed the crown upon her head. 

Vanity, a frailty of the whole race, could not but be pleased at the 
ceremony of the day. But the real joy of Josephine began the evening 
before, when her prayer of years was at last granted. She who in the 
midst of an irreligious age had preserved her hold u[)on the Church 
and remained a true daughter of the faith had daily, hourly prayed to 
have her marriage with Napoleon blessed by the Church. When the 
Holy Father was under her roof she besought him with tears, and he 
promised she should have her will. And on the 1st of December, 
in the evening, an altar was raised in the Tuileries, and, with Talley- 
rand and Marshal Berthier as witnesses, Josephine and Napoleon were 
married. 

We cannot wonder that the woman felt a glow of happiness as the 
last vision of divorce from the man she worshipped vanished. As he 
advanced, she knelt, trembling and silently weeping. As the crown 
rested on her head, memories surged over both. Again Napoleon was 
the happy young officer, glad with the appointment for command of the 
Army of Italy, obtained for him by Josephine. Again he thought of 
her tact and graciousness uniting the old with the new regime. And 
now the sublime moment to them both had come. There in tearful 
loveliness before him knelt the originator of all his triumphs. Gladly 
he crowned her Empress, and together they proceeded to the great 
throne to receive the blessing, May God establish you on your 
throne, and may Christ cause you to reign with him in his eternal 
kingdom.” 

There, amid the music of Abb6 Rose’s hymn and the Te Deum sung 
by four choirs with two orchestras, we will leave Josephine and Na- 
poleon. The Pope will finish the mass, oaths will be taken and made, 
and then follows a short swift train of brilliant gladness, followed by 
wailing sadness. But we will forget what follows. 

There we will leave them, happy. The woman of forty-two blushes 
and smiles as if she were twenty : she is happy, she is content. There 
she sits regally and listens to the mass of her beloved Church, while 
the Emperor, seated a step higher than she, calmly waits the end of 
the celebration. His heart beats and his eye kindles while he thinks 
of glory, and ever more glory. 

And the throng join in the service with freshened admiration and 
perfect trust in the man whose star they believe undimmable. 

Edith Duff, 


WITH THE AUTOCRAT. 


107 


WITH THE AUTOCRAT 

E verybody knew Dr. Holmes through his books, and better 
than a reader knows most authors, for he put himself into what 
he wrote with few reserves and no disguises. But those who had the 
advantage of knowing him in the flesh were impressed by three facts: 
that he was one of the best fellows in the world ; that he talked as 
well as he wrote; and that he loved to talk about religion, or at least 
about theology. He said he had occasion to be somewhat acquainted 
with these matters, since he had gone to church every Sunday of his 
life and listened to several thousand sermons. He liked to listen to 
sermons, and to preach them too, in his own free and genial fashion. 
I don’t know that he cared much for the candlesticks and upholstery 
of the sanctuary — parish reports, statistics of missions, and the like; 
but the framework, the skeleton, the doctrines, he was as much at home 
with as if he had been a D.D. like his father. As he would have said, 
bones were in his line ; had he not been a professor of anatomy for 
forty-odd years ? 

True, his interest in the doctrines was largely radical : he was 
chiefly concerned to improve, if not to upset, the beliefs of his ancestors. 
Mr. Lowell once said to me, with vast amusement, Most of us have 
the polemic rage, like the measles, in our youth, and outgrow it by 
twenty : Wendell doesn’t seem to have got over it yet.” But reformers 
don’t get over their mental measles — they don’t grow indifierent; and 
Dr. Holmes did a deal of reforming in his way. 

When I first called on him, a great many years ago, the denomina- 
tion to which I then belonged — let us borrow Dr. Hale’s word, and 
call it the Sandernanian — was little known in Boston. The Autocrat 
said he had never met a live Sandernanian before, and wished to know 
what that peculiar people believed. I began to expound according to 
my lights, which may have been darkness, for he soon called a halt. 
‘‘Those are your own views,” he observed, mildly but firmly: “they 
are doubtless of great value and interest; but my present curiosity is 
as to the official tenets of your communion.” So I took a new tack, 
and cut the tale as short as might be, for I was not there to talk, but 
to listen to him. I soon found — or at least I received the impression 
— that he was not going to waste his sweetness, nor let himself go till 
he had plumbed the visitor’s mind far enough to guess whether I could 
follow him. This is an excellent plan, such as should be followed by 
all the wise and great who are in the habit of receiving strangers. 

Apparently he sativsfied himself that I was not wholly sterile soil, 
for he soon let himself go with a vengeance. It was as if he had just 
thought out a great problem, and must ease his bosom of its perilous 
stuff. “ The popular religion,” he said in substance, “ is based on the 
assumption that the creature is under infinite obligations to the Creator, 
and He under none at all. But consider. Begin with the relationship 
between earthly parent and child. Who ordains that, and the child’s 


108 


WITH THE AUTOCRAT 


existence too ? The child ? No ; the parent. Then is not the burden 
of responsibility and duty heaviest on the father’s side?” 

There was nothing to say to this, and he went on, growing so 
earnest and eloquent that the words burned themselves into my memory. 
His premises — for the moment — seemed ortliodox enough, whatever 
heresy might lurk in his conclusion. Pass from the human to the 
heavenly relation, and it seems to me the argument is not weakened, 
but vastly strengthened. When I remember that we are infinitely 
weak and He is infinitely strong, that He is infinitely wise and we are 
infinitely ignorant and foolish, that we are infinitely sinful and He is 
infinitely holy, — I think that, whatever our obligations to Him, His 
to us are infinitely greater.” 

This rather took my breath away. Had I been older and wiser, I 
might have suggested that his argument knocked the underpinning 
from all the received systems. He would probably have answered that 
that was what he meant it to do, and that Christianity was old enough 
to walk without crutches. If I had asked him to go a step further, 
and solve the terrible question he had led up to, I think he would 
have said, ‘‘ Certainly. His obligations to us are infinite, and — He 
discharges them.” Under all his surface radicalism, the Autocrat’s 
faith was as sound as his heart. For him the sun always shone, 
without and within. He had an assured income, a charming domestic 
circle, a temper as happy as his wit was nimble, early and abundant 
recognition, — ‘Move, honor, troops of friends.” To such, trust in the 
Power that shapes our ends is easy, and speculation safe. The prob- 
lems that are so terrifying to many existed for him only on their 
intellectual side. 

Having received enough to chew upon, I remember little more of 
that evening, except his saying that he found two different theologies 
in the New Testament, and liked that of Christ much better than 
Paul’s. Granted the difference, most of us would agree with him 
here, rather than with Mr. Francis Newman, who in the most painful 
chapter of his once-famous “ Phases of Faith” says distinctly that he 
prefers Paul to Christ, both as a man and as a theologian. But Dr. 
Holmes spoke with an air of concern, as if he wished to be on good 
terms with everything in the Christian Scriptures, and took it hard 
that he could not. I reminded him that our Lord’s work had to be 
completed by His death and what followed, and that therefore the 
Epistles occupied ground further on, so to speak, than the Gospels, 
starting where these ended. He said he- knew that, but it did not 
satisfy him. And so we parted for the night. 

After that I saw him whenever I was in Boston, and was received 
like an old friend. That implied no compliment to me, for he doubt- 
less felt in that way to every one who could put two ideas together and 
listen to him without being shocked. As we all know, he was the 
kindliest as well as the most approachable of great men. To assume 
the swelling port of a dignitary, to hold a fellow-creature at a distance, 
to consider the conventional and prudential proprieties in his speech, was 
not in him. Once he had measured and admitted you, you were in his 
confidence, and welcome to his deepest as to his lightest thoughts. He 


WITH THE AUTOCRAT. 


109 


did Dot need to hoard up all his good things for the pages of the 
Atlantic ; many of them, in fact, he preferred to give out viva voce to 
a much smaller audience, whom there was less risk of offending. He 
was too humane to hurt feelings needlessly, and there is much to 
admire in the slight reserve which mitigated the frankness of his 
books. 

One lovely March day — March has some fine days even in Boston 
— we were walking on the Charles River bridge, when suddenly, 
apropos of nothing at all, he turned upon me and exclaimed with 
great emphasis, in his odd, jerky way, I believe the Old Testament 
was the crude effort of a barbarous people toward the attainment of a 
religion and a literature and instantly he added, with a twinkle, 
^^Fm just as bad as that Those were not the days of “Literature 
and Dogma but if I had said, “ Now, doctor, you surely must 
admit the unique moral nobleness of those ancient books, the domi- 
nating recognition of a Force that makes for righteousness,’^ he would 
have said, “ Of course, of course : I’m only giving you a jocose view 
of the other side.” I could guess what was in his mind : he was 
thinking of “ Cursed be Canaan,” and Deborah’s laudation of Jael’s 
murder of Sisera, and Balaam’s ass, and Joshua’s strange astronomical 
adventure, and what Matthew Arnold calls the “immense misappre- 
hension” of these by the mediaeval mind. 

A few grandfathers may remember reading “The Guardian Angel” 
as it appeared in the Atlantic^ I think in ’66. It was then the custom, 
since chiefly honored in the breach, to criticise the successive fragments 
of a serial. It was also considered improper — except in the news- 
papers, when recording melancholy facts — to speak of the clergy in 
any other terms than those of respect and affection : in that regard 
too we have moved on since. Dr. Holmes was rash enough to intro- 
duce an “ orthodox” parson who was perhaps not as good as he might 
be, though his transgressions were but gently hinted at, and his short- 
comings painted with no heavy brush or glaring colors. In the May 
number this dubious shepherd was dwelt upon more than usual, — 
chiefly by innuendo and insinuation, — and thereat arose an indignant 
chorus. I happened in Boston at the time, and found the author in 
what is termed “a state of mind.” Said he, “I don’t care what the 
religious papers say about me, — that is expected ; but I do care what 

the says. Many of my friends take it, I’ve taken it myself ; 

and now its reviewer says I’m hitting a man of straw — that there are 
no such ministers !” I tried to soothe him : even so high an authority 
as the was mortal and fallible, etc. ; but he would not be con- 

soled. 

Two days later I dropped in again, and lo, a change had come over 
his spirit. He was pleasurably excited, almost gleeful. “ Have you 
read about that Monothelite minister in Damascus?” (Not to be per- 
sonal, I change the names.) I had not: thus does he who neglects 
the morning paper miss much useful learning. So the doctor told me 
the tale: it was not an edifying one. “There’s my man of straw! 
Now, did I say anything half as bad as that?” 

It is twenty years since I saw him last : none the less I remember 


110 


A QUESTION OF RESPONSIBILITY. 


with affectionate respect one who had no pretences — least of all the 
pretence of being above our common weaknesses — and no guile; 
who could afford to let his real self be seen of any ; who would no 
more attitudinize or play a part than do a mean action or say a false 
or cruel word. Most of us, when hurt, assume indifference and are 
mindful of our dignity, appearance being more than reality. Not 
so he. 

Many of us must remember the dominant idea of Elsie Venner,’’ 
in which the snake-mark is set upon the heroine before her birth, and 
a pure and noble woman-soul struggles with an intruding serpent- 
nature to the death. He told me once that he had written this without 
any basis of known fact, as an exercise of the imagination upon what 
seemed to him psychico-physical possibilities, and was amazed after- 
wards to receive letters from two men of character and position, one 
of them, I think, a Confederate official, describing similar cases in their 
families and wondering how he had heard of them. 

Whether those two novels are still read or not, they deserve to be. 
The author was not a professional romancer, indeed, but there are 
treasures of wisdom in them, and abundant human interest. Nor was 
Dr. Holmes merely the civic functionary, social ornament, and poet 
of occasion, that some seem to fancy. These were but phases of a 
variously gifted mind, entwined with a rich and generous nature. 
Above all, the man was genuine; not merely wit, but humorist; as 
true a union of aristocrat and democrat as we have seen, or are likely 
to see again. This must be felt by the thousands who knew him near 
at hand, and the tens of thousands who knew him somewhat further 
off, through the medium of his books. He often made us smile, he 
sometimes made us want to cry. Many things in his verse, and more 
in his prose, have gone to the general heart. The word that comes 
from England is surely echoed through America, that we have lost not 
so much one who posed for our amusement or spoke ore rotundo for 
our instruction as a near friend and an elder brother. 

F. M. B. 


A QUESTION OF RESPONSIBILITY. 

H e was always called Professor,^^ though one would be apt to 
question his right to the title, as no university had ever be- 
stowed it upon him. It was the result of Mrs. Terwilliger^s veneration 
for his art, and had been so long in use that people quite ignored his 
real name, — forgot it, in fact. But a close inspection of the card tacked 
upon the outside of his door revealed to an inquiring mind that he was 
Herr Albrecht Muller, whose business in life it was to encourage young 
talent upon the violin, and also to furnish music for parties.^^ For 
the rest, his greatest glory consisted in being one of the second violins 
in the renowned Symphony Orchestra, — where, by the way, he was 
never known in his professorial capacity. 


A QUESTION OF RESPONSIBILITY. 


Ill 


He was very weary. He had not appreciated the full extent of his 
weariness until he reached the steps of his boarding-house ; there his 
fatigue asserted itself, and he paused to rest — to take breath — before 
he entered and climbed the stairs to his room beneath the eaves. He 
looked about him grimly. 

The house faced on a narrow street which, years before, when the 
city was in its youth, had been one of the fashionable quarters ; it still 
retained some slight traces of its former dignity, discernible even yet 
through its cloak of decay. Far removed from the bustling thorough- 
fares, it had offered no allurements to commerce, and had lain there 
forgotten, beyond the din of traffic, growing shabbier as time went on. 
The very stones in the centre of the street seemed to utter their protest 
at this neglect; huge holes gaped here and there, black and uncanny 
in the uncertain light of the rickety lamp at the corner and the far- 
away shining of the stars. The tide of prosperity had swept aside, 
leaving this little memento of earlier days stranded and forlorn. There 
was something not wholly unlovely in its altered appearance. Artists 
came occasionally to sketch the quaint iron railings on either side of 
the low, shallow stoops, and some of them made pictures of the house 
at the farther end, where an odd scroll-work of iron still held the 
tottering frame of a lantern aloft. The glass had long since been 
shattered, and the empty aperture looked like some giant mouth 
distorted with scornful mirth at the pitiful jest of Time. But other- 
wise the street was given over to its occupants, — apprentices, struggling 
clerks, men and women earning their daily bread. The brick side- 
walk felt the passing of many feet as they fared forth in the morn- 
ing and returned at night, some buoyant with hope, some leaden with 
despair. 

Sometimes the professor would look at the houses on the opposite 
side of the way and fall to thinking of the secrets they might disclose 
had they the gift of speech, — the joys and sorrows of the past, the joys 
and sorrows of the present, so near akin, even in their remoteness. 
How much was hidden away behind those defaced exteriors! He 
used to speculate about it often, and wonder at the elements of tragedy 
and comedy the little street contained. But to-night it seemed sin- 
gularly deficient of either ; it was very quiet and dark, and wrapped 
in slumber its entire length. The winter sky was massing up clouds 
for a storm, and the few stars shining through the white drifts looked 
sleepily down upon the scene. 

The professor dragged himself wearily up the steps, and stopped to 
take his key from his pocket. It was a rather arduous task. First 
he had to put his violin-case down tenderly, and then the roll of music 
which he had carried beneath his arm. He had next to unbutton the 
garment called by courtesy an overcoat — though it was not suggestive 
of much warmth — and slip aside the ends of the woollen scarf, before 
he could reach his undercoat; that unfastened, he felt in his vest-pocket 
for the key, breathing a sigh of relief as his fingers closed oji the steel 
rim and he drew it out. He fitted it into the lock and turned it care- 
fully, fearful of disturbing his neighbors’ repose. It took him some 
time to change it from the outside to the inside of the door and to pick 


112 


A QUESTION OF RESPONSIBILITY, 


up his belongings ; he was usually slow in all his motions, but to- 
night, on account of his fatigue, his fingers seemed half paralyzed. As 
he entered the hall the light that was dimly burning flickered uncer- 
tainly in the draught of cold air. It was like some feeble human hope 
fluttering at the approach of disaster; but, the door once closed, it let 
its little shining accentuate the meagreness of its surroundings. The 
professor looked at the rack, and, seeing that all the lodgers were in, 
turned out the gas and groped his way to the stairs. 

They seemed interminable to his tired fancy; his knee, which 
always troubled him in cold weather, was pricking him. now with keen 
twinges. How long ago it was since he had become lame ! — a good 
five-and-forty years, and he was turned fifteen then ; he could remem- 
ber, as clearly as if it were yesterday, the time when he had slipped 
on the ice and had broken his knee-cap. Five-and-forty years ago, and 
it still ached, — more poignantly than his heart, sometimes! He crept 
softly on through the quiet house, up and up, until his head grew a 
trifle dizzy. 

At the foot of the last flight of stairs he sat down to rest ; he had 
not the strength just then to go any farther. He was so tired : he had 
never felt quite so tired before. Surely he was growing old. He 
smiled a little tremulously in the darkness, and his hand relaxed its 
hold on the violin-case ; he laid it on the step above him and put his 
arm about it caressingly. 

Some day we’ll have to say good-by, dear love,” he whispered, in 
German. Will it be soon, I wonder?” 

Through the years of his lonely life he had fallen into the habit of 
talking to his violin as to a friend ; he did not recognize his lack of 
human companionship with such a trusty comrade at hand. He sat 
still, thinking, for a few moments ; then he went on ; 

‘‘How glorious the music was to-night! I had but to close my 
eyes, and, behold, I was in the very heaven of heavens. I could feel 
thy face just beneath my own, and hear thy voice mingling with those 
angelic strains. It is never to be forgotten ! But didst thou notice 
that Schott played false? I wanted to tell him, but he prides himself 
so much on being a first fiddle, he will brook no interference from a 
second. As if I didn’t know how the passage goes : turn, turn, turn, 
then D flat, like this, — not natural, as Schott plays it.” 

He hummed the air several times, but so low that if the occupants 
of the rooms opening on the hall had been stirring they must have 
thought him some little mouse singing away in the wainscot. The 
slight noise he made was quite drowned by the voluminous sounds that 
proceeded from Mr. Green’s apartment, where that worthy man was 
earning the just reward of his labors. 

The little professor did not move from his place; the warmth he 
felt from his outer coat filled him with a pleasurable sense of comfort, 
his knee had ceased aching, and he even drowsed slightly. It was the 
first time -that he had rested since early morning. It had been an 
unusually busy day for him, what with the lessons, the extra prac- 
tising, the evening’s concert, and after that the walk home from the 
upper part of the city. The blocks had seemed endless as he trudged 


A QUESTION OF RESPONSIBILITY. 


113 


along; the night was bitterly cold, but he could not hurry, for fear of 
slipping on the icy pavements. The shops were closed on either side 
of the way, and the whole avenue was deserted, save for a car that 
now and then passed north or south, its bells jingling a tantalizing re- 
frain. Above his head thundered an occasional elevated train, causing 
the street to vibrate with its great roar, its lights glancing at him 
like so many friendly eyes until they were lost in the distance. But 
not for a moment did he regret the action that had enriched a beggar 
and had deprived him of the means of riding. He needed the walk, 
he told himself : he was getting lazy, and forgetful that exercise is good 
for every one. It was a satisfaction, though, to be at home at last ; 
he was so glad to rest. He took a certain amount of indolent delight 
in loitering on the stairs, though he knew he ought to go to his room ; 
but it was a pleasure, just then, not to do as he ought. Duty is a grim 
taskmistress whom we take a childish enjoyment in thwarting when- 
ever we can, heedless of the fact that she keeps a strict account and 
makes us pay in the end. He went on with his dreaming; he was 
back in the concert-room, with its glittering curve of lights, and the 
wonderful music was filling the air about him. Suddenly he started, 
as though aroused by some unseen hand, and rubbed his eyes sleepily. 
The hall was very dark, and he could distinguish nothing in the soft 
obscurity that lay like a mantle everywhere. He put out his hand 
and felt the balustrade; it gave an answering creak to his touch. He 
knew then where he was, — on the third floor of Mrs. Terwilliger’s 
select boarding-house. He understood that thoroughly. What he did 
not understand so well was the strange odor that was creeping insid- 
iously into the passage-way. There were often questionable odors in 
the Terwilliger mansion, — musty odors, and odors from the culinary 
department, in which the onion frequently battled with the cooking- 
butter for the ascendancy. But this was different. It was gas, — de- 
cidedly gas. The professor recognized that immediately. Evidently 
some one had forgotten to turn ofi* his light and it had blown out. 
The solution was of the simplest. 

The professor tiptoed down the hall and sniffed inquiringly at the 
two doors there; then he walked slowly back and placed his face 
against the door opposite the stairs. He drew in a deep breath ; the 
trouble did not come from there. He turned to the last, — the little 
front hall bedroom. Through the crack there proceeded an unmis- 
takable gaseous smell. Within it was dark and very still. His first 
impulse was to arouse the sleeper, but the next moment — though he 
wondered at himself for so doing — he took a match from his pocket 
and lighted it quickly. As it flared up, he bent down to the sill and 
inspected it closely. The house was very old, and, in settling, many 
of the doors had ceased to fit in their frames. He had often noticed, 
on his way up-stairs in the daytime, the broad streak of light that came 
from this particular threshold. Now, as he looked, he saw something 
white there; the little flickering flame went out, and, in the darkness 
that followed, he ran his fingers along the wide crack. They came in 
contact with a substance like linen. 

His mind, usually so slow in its workings, leaped like a flash to a 
Yol. LV.— -8 


114 


A QUESTION OF RESPONSIBILITY, 


conclusion which almost prostrated him. It was a towel that lay along 
the aperture. He pushed it back fiercely. It had not fallen there 
by accident : it had been placed there. The horror of the situation 
overcame him for the moment; he tugged at the scarf at his throat 
as though it choked him and prevent^ his breathing. The person 
within the room was courting death. Who was it? The little pro- 
fessor covered his eyes with his hand and tried to think. Quick ! 
quick! who was it? Not Martin; not Jordan; not Miss Fitch, the 
dressmaker Ah I 

He fell back against the wall, half stunned by the thought. It was 
that young girl — he did not know her name — that pale-faced, sad-eyed 
girl who wore the pitiful rusty black dress. She never had a word to 
say to anybody ; she was like some mournful little ghost slipping in 
and out among them. Once he had spoken to her as they met in the 
hall. There was something in her face that reminded him forcibly 
of his girl-love who had died so many years before across the seas, 
and he wanted to be friendly for Gretchen’s sake. But his overtures 
had frightened the girl ; she had hardly responded to his commonplace 
remarks. The dumb look of pain in her dark eyes had haunted him 
throughout the day. It was as if she had met with nothing but rebuffs. 
Just Gretchen^s age, — not older, surely not older, — and so alone and 

weary, and now He could imagine her lying there, with her sad 

eyes looking out into the darkness for the approach of that grim 
Presence who should bring her peace. He put his hand on the knob 
softly ; he would not frighten her if he could help it. His pity made 
him divinely tender. 

Fraulein !’’ he whispered, Fraulein 

There was no answer within, — nothing but an appalling stillness. 
He recoiled, trembling, uncertain how to act. He could break the door 
open, he knew, and call for aid ; but something — some unaccountable 
feeling of delicacy, some shrinking from exposing her pitiful secret — 
prevented him. As he lingered there, a low sob fell on his ears. She 
was not dead, then. 

Gott sei dankj nicht todt — nicht todtP^ He was in time, he could 
save her yet. 

But how? But why? He stood irresolute. What right had he 
to meddle with fate, to prolong this struggle with life in one who had 
found it so distasteful in the spring-time of her youth ? During the 
few weeks of her stay in the house he had seen hope die slowly out of 
her face and despair settle like a pall in its stead. She had tried — God 
knows she had tried — her bravest and her best, and she had failed. 
Who was he that he should condemn her to stay amid the dangers and 
temptations of the great city? What right had he to take from her 
the comfort that Death would bring on his dark wings? Why should 
he seek to defeat her object? Where did responsibility begin and irre- 
sponsibility end? 

His brain was in a whirl as the opposing voices clashed within him. 
Suddenly, out of the tumult, like a guiding star, came one thought. 
Clearly it was his duty to protest against her action. He knew that if 
he could arouse her by saying, ‘‘Child, be patient yet a little longer and 


A QUESTION OF RESPONSIBILITY, 


115 


your life will be happy/’ he would not hesitate a moment, he would 
hasten gladly to her rescue. The imperativeness of the duty was not 
altered though instead of those words of cheer he must say, ‘‘ Child, 
you have no right to push the cup aside; you must drink it; you must 
take the bitter and forego the sweet. You must live on to old age, if 
that is His will — uncomplainingly, bravely, until His hand places 
‘Finis’ at the foot of your life’s page.” 

That was the message intrusted to him, and the pity of it was that 
in his narrow sphere he would be powerless to aid her overmuch. In 
a short time their paths must diverge; he could only help and hearten 
her a little of the way. His own grasp on the world was growing less 
firm ; he felt a strange thrill of exultation at the thought, for he was 
often very weary. Her act had been prompted in a moment of rash- 
ness ; of that he was sure. He was conscious, with the wisdom the 
years had brought him, that sorrow to the young is known as despair, 
while later in life it is called by its true name and is not unbearable. 
He felt very tenderly towards her, not condemning her in the least. 
Who was he, that he should judge any one? The dreary hopelessness 
of her lot was like a leaf out of his own past. He had known a similar 
temptation. The remembrance of that time, when, lonely, poor, heart- 
broken, he had longed to end his life, thrilled him keenly. It made it 
easy for him to understand and pity. Something had saved him then, 
— the voice of his violin, — and it was left for him to save this young 
creature now. That was his duty. He must bring her back to a life 
of suffering, it might be, through which she could gain her content 
even as he had gained his. 

It was all clear to him in that moment, — clear by some heaven-sent 
inspiration. His course of action was unrolled like a panorama; there 
was no cause for further hesitancy. What was required of him was to 
turn the gas off from the entire house. He knew just where to go. It 
was to meet the need of this time, and for no other reason, that he had 
spent a good half-hour with the plumber in the cellar only the week 
before. He had told himself then, in excuse for his idling, that it was 
because the man had come from over-seas and could give him news of 
the home of his childhood. Now he knew otherwise. The little girl 
should live, and it would seem to her that it was God’s doing : she 
would not feel so lonely after that. Well, it was God’s doing ; He often 
employs humble instruments to work for Him. 

The professor, despite his sixty years and his lame knee, ran swiftly 
and noiselessly down the stairs. Not a person in the house must know 
his errand, or why it was prompted. It was only the work of a few 
minutes ; but the groping up again in the darkness was another matter : 
the old knee always rebelled at going up-stairs. 

When the professor came back from his lessons the next afternoon, 
he saw people moving in and out of the little hall bedroom by whose 
door he had lingered through the grim watches of the night. That 
door was still closed when he had gone to his work in the morning, 
and his heart gave a sickening bound to see it open now. He moved 
unsteadily towards it and caught a glimpse of the meagre interior, — 


116 


ON CHRISTES DAY. 


the strip of cheap gray carpet, the battered pine bureau, the iron bed- 
stead, and, beyond, the window with its small panes of yellowing glass. 
He stopped on the threshold, his face white and trembling. 

Das Frdulein/^ he stammered ; wo ist das Frduldnf^ 

Mrs. Terwilliger turned. “Frawline!’^ she repeated, in a bewil- 
dered voice. ‘‘ Oh ! yes. Why, she^s gone. ^Bout noon a middle-aged 
woman come an^ took her : she was a cousin from the country, an’ her 
only kin. They’d had some failin’ out, but they was willin’ enough 
to make it up, I can tell you ; any one would ’a’ thought they was 
lovers, the way they kissed an’ cried over each other. The woman had 
b’en searchin’ everywheres, an’ it was a good thing she come when she 
did, for that girl had ’bout got to the end o’ her rope. I never saw sech 
a peaked-lookin’ critter as she was to-day. She didn’t seem quite right 
in her mind, neither ; she kep’ sayin’ over an’ over ag’in it was a mirycle, 
an’ she was so wicked, an’ then she’d break down an’ sob. An’ all the 
time her cousin was soothin’ her an’ callin’ her little love-names. It 
kinder made me want to cry myself. But, laws’ sakes ! she’ll be happy 
now. I wish the rest of us could have things smoothed out so easy. 
I remember my brother ” 

The little professor did not wait a moment longer; his landlady’s 
personal reminiscences had no charm for him. He felt wonderfully 
buoyant and young as he climbed the stairs to his room, though his 
knee dragged in painful protest and he could hardly see for the tears 
in his eyes. But they were tears of gratitude, and he kept murmuring 
to himself, Thank God ! thank God !” 

Imogen Clark, 


ON CHRISTFS DAY. 

a OOD people alle, on Christes Hay, 
Dispatch dissensions farre away. 
Forgive your foes, united be 
In bonds of God-like amitie! 

Good people alle, when Goddes Sonne 
Came down to save us every one. 

Came down to rescue us from wrath. 
Should we not follow in His path ? 

Good people alle, good grace, good cheer. 
Give of your plenty farre and neare; 

The best mandate of love obey. 

Be brothers alle on Christes Day ! 


Susie M, Best, 


HERBERT BEERBOHM TREE, 


117 


HERBERT BEERBOHM TREE. 

A STUDY. 

A merica has seen several of the notable actors of England, and 
she has approved with pence and praise. She has yet to see, 
and she will see soon, Mr. H. Beerbohm Tree; and I venture to 
prophesy for him a hospitality which will spring not alone from the 
generous courtesy which the American people extend to the illustrious, 
but from a sound intrinsic appreciation of a distinguished and powerful 
actor. It is the common thing to say of Mr. Tree that he is singularly 
versatile; but the word versatile has, to me, always, the feeling of 
smartness, of juggling with the talents, as it were ; it does not express 
continuity, consistency, the force of a masterful temperament; and the 
force of a masterful temperament — searching, glowing, attractive — is 
the thing concerning this outstanding man which should be sent illus- 
tratively through this article. I want to give the idea of a man who 
has an individuality which must be taken into large account ; an idio- 
syncrasy in his art which is at once a style and an impulse ; a stage 
manner which is not a mannerism even when it comes at times near to 
the fantastical, but is rather a kind of idiom of — shall I say the word? 
— of genius. 

Now that I have used this word genius I am glad, for it is a thing 
so easily said, and so hard to justify; sanely used it imports so much, 
carelessly it punishes him who uses it. It does not scathe, it shames ; 
it does not cry out, it points to where its spirit works to subject men 
and women, learned and unlearned, to its charm. There lies the heart 
of it all. Genius has something to give those who know much and 
those who know little. Subjection to its ineffable charm is in us 
all ; it is only a question of measure, — whether it be the small, sweet 
piping of the shepherd in Arcady or the affluent, intrepid harmony 
of the gods. In brief, the peasant comes under influence of the 
great artist through some one open door, as well as the great statesman 
through many clear, 1 ong-tra veiled avenues. The young lad of nine 
or ten may not understand the meaning or the force of some great 
poem that he reads, but if he have one tiny natural faculty of taste he 
falls under the mastery of the charm, he knows not why or wherefore. 
It is the atmosphere, the spirit, the presence of the artist, that holds 
him. 

And it is here I wish to touch upon what was especially in my 
mind when I used the word genius in writing of Mr. Beerbohm Tree. 
The word that signifies it all is presence. By presence I do not mean 
a matter of manner, though that is important enough, but the general 
effect of a personality, the vital influence which produces effects by 
simply being, not acting. It is that persuasive something which fills 
a room, a place ; which bulks materially almost as much as it suggests. 
To suggest more definitely : Great men — really great — produce effects 
unconsciously by what scientists call catalysis, the action of presence. 


118 


HERBERT BEERBOHM TREE. 


One feels Napoleon filling the stage of Europe, one regards him in the 
mind as an enormous personality ; he is large physically in the relations 
we arrange between him and Europe. It is, after all, much a matter 
of mind. Mr. Tree himself touches upon this in his well-written, 
pungent, and wise lecture on “The Imaginative Faculty delivered 
before the Royal Institution in May, 1893. With very much else 
that is potent, he says, — speaking of the actor, — “ By the aid of his 
imagination he becomes the man, and behaves unconsciously as the 
man would or should behave ; this he does instinctively rather than 
from any conscious study, for what does not come spontaneously may 
as well not come at all. Even the physical man will appear trans- 
formed,^^ etc. . . . “ The actor, even though he be peasant-born, will 
be able by the power of his imagination to acquire the rare gift of 
distinction.’^ 

These are a couple of paragraphs from one of the sanest little books 
I know ; for it is written by a man who has a gift of penetration and 
perspicacity, who is much more — let us be thankful — of the artist than 
of the scholar, and yet who has culture enough to make his poetic insight 
tell for all that it is worth. One has heard so much of “ scholarly 
readings” and “ dignified interpretation” that there is danger, while 
admiring these most commendable things, of forgetting that with a 
little elocution the college professor may be scholarly and dignified in 
reading “Hamlet,” or, let us say, “The Dancing Girl.” “Hamlet” 
being for the closet as well as for the stage, it may pass to the cultured, 
— the college professor’s reading ; but imagine the gentleman trying to be 
scholarly and dignified with Monsieur the Duke of Guisebury ! “ Ham- 
let” often clothes the actor with a kind of eloquence, lent by our own 
imagination and the serene glory of Shakespeare’s lines ; but it is the 
actor who has in him the real thing, that throws a charm — and in Mr. 
Tree’s acting how great a charm ! — about a character not fascinating in 
itself, and gives a distinction to dialogue not in itself distinguished, as 
Americans will see when they watch Mr. Tree play this part of the 
Duke of Guisebury. They will see also in his playing of “ Hamlet” 
how much he depends upon himself as a sensitive physical machine, 
governed by a singularly poetic temperament, for the general human 
efifect of the character, as against the attempts of some notable men to 
be distinguished in certain portions of the play and epic altogether, 
thereby making “ Hamlet” a play-house for fine readings, splendid 
elocution, and occasional outbursts of passion. There is in Mr. Tree’s 
temperament a subtle eerie quality, entirely his own, elusive to him 
who would imitate its signs, often thrilling, now and then fantastical, 
here and tliere reaching diablerie, and in all richly endowing his acting 
with force, color, manner, and — shall I say it? — unexpectedness. You 
can guess what most actors will do in given situations ; you cannot 
guess by what singular, sometimes masterly, touch Mr. Tree will make 
a situation powerful. 

Possibly it will be the touch of total inaction, of an apparent arrest 
of every function of movement and purpose, — the seeming numb silence 
of mind and body. One of his latest plays, “A Bunch of Violets,” 
aflbrds me an evidence of this particular thing. In the third act, when 


HERBERT BEERBOHM TREE. 


119 


all the schemes of the central figure have gone agley, his villany dis- 
covered, his wife and child vanished, ruin and vile shame staring him 
in the face, he — he does nothing. That is it; there is the secret force 
of the scene : no melodrama, no moaning, no trepidation, no violence 
of manner or words, no distortion of sense or sentiment to produce an 
unusual stage effect, but something silent, stricken, amazed, dumb, dis- 
tressfully awry : a guilty man, having played big games and lost, 
paralyzed as he faces the future. So Mr. Tree presents him, sit- 
ting haggard and stony; and the effect is much finer than the play 
itself gives warrant for. That is something of what I mean by the 
action of presence : the inner man, the imaginative, the being with a 
temperament, producing effects by the sheer power to fill the stage — 
that is, to fill the eye and the receptive sense of an audience. The 
great actor has this quality always, for he has that distinctiveness, that 
outstanding something, which attracts. Salvini has it to an uncommon 
degree, as any will testify who has seen him in that one great scene in 
The Outlaw,’^ where inaction is his pathetic tour deforce ; Mr. Irving 
has it, as all grant who have seen him in ‘‘ Becket Mr. Edwin Booth 
had it. 

There is a good deal of folly talked about actors sinking themselves 

in their parts. ‘‘ He is always Mr. himself,’^ has been said of 

more than one distinguished actor of our time. Now, it is only the 
undistinctive, the commonplace man who can always cover up his artistic 
identity : he has nothing to cover. But the artist who has a personality 
can deceive the eye only when the dress, the disguise, the make-up in 
itself — as, say, in ‘‘King Lear’^ — is itself a disguise. But in a part 
like Hamlet, or Malvolio, or Benedick, who can achieve personal ex- 
tinction save the colorless fellow ? Each notable actor represents char- 
acter through the expression of his own physical machine and artistic 
temperament, and the part he plays is always colored by that. Were 
ever two great Othellos alike? two great Hamlets? two great Lears? 
two great Macbeths? Let us leave to the actor the accent of his per- 
sonality on the part he plays: it will be there, whether we do so or 
not. I say these things because it has sometimes been urged against 
Mr. Tree, as against Mr. Irving, that he has mannerisms, — that “we 
always know it’s Tree.” They want him to do the superhuman 
thing, in playing his exquisite Beau Austin or his touching, fanciful 
Gringoire to be as little palpable in his personality as in playing 
the strong, weird, but not notable Issachar, or Falstaff, where he is 
stuffed out of all semblance, and, naturally, adds to the “stufiSng” 
by the force of his imagination and by certain physical tricks in the 
game of acting. I say tricks as I would speak of an artist using a 
certain feint of color to produce an illusion, — a really diflBcult and 
meritorious thing. 

As to this power of the imagination to color, to achieve differences, 
but very delicate differences, to, as it were, make one character re- 
semble another, so as to be taken for it, and yet to render them dis- 
tinct, Mr. Tree gave a brilliant example in “ A Man’s Shadow,” in 
which he played Luversan and Laroque. I shall never forget the 
performance : several visits to the Haymarket Theatre while Mr. 


120 


HERBERT BEERBOHM TREE. 


Tree was playing it in 1889 make that sure. It is as subtle, weird, 
and delicately diabolical a bit of acting as one shall easily see, having 
that singular nervous yet restrained intensity that, I make bold to 
say, is possessed by very few on the English stage ; and one of that 
very few is Mr. Edward Henley, an actor well known in America, — 
whether as well prized as he ought to be, I cannot say. You shall 
find the same quality, in varying degree, in Mr. Tree’s Macari of 
Called Back,” in the fascinating and yet revolting Jim the Pen- 
man, and in Captain Swift,” which, to my mind, is one of the most 
notable plays within the limits of drawing-room melodrama produced 
in a long day. 

There are few living actors whose range is so wide, and who play 
so admirably within the range. I should be sorry to suggest that Mr. 
Tree can play everything, for temperament and physique set as severe 
limits to the actor’s capacity as temperament and style of technique do 
to an artist’s. One can scarcely have imagined Mr. Edwin Booth as 
the sweating, roaring rake Falstaff, or in the valiant bounce and brag 
of Henry V., and one may take leave to doubt that Mr. Tree has a 
keen desire to appear as Julius Caesar or Napoleon; at least he has 
wise distinct choice of characters suitable to him, and he makes it. 
But to think of The Bed Lamp” (which he produced in 1887) one 
imagines him instantly in the grim, ironical humor and piercing keen- 
ness of Demetrius, and one might easily have prophesied an interpre- 
tation of Lord Illingworth in A Woman of No Importance” far sur- 
passing its intrinsic value as a character. Man of the world as he is, 
brilliant conversationalist, with a subtle imagination playing over all 
he does and says, Mr. Tree touched off Lord Illingworth with a 
devilish, glacial coolness and sang-froid which carried to their goal 
every time the smart and — it will be conceded — pungent satire of Mr. 
Oscar Wilde’s dialogue. It seems to me that England has sent over 
no actor to America who should appeal so much to the temperament 
of the American people as Mr. Tree. lie has that fine, nervous force, 
that swiftness in projecting a sensation, that flexibility of power, that 
hot dry vigor of sense — in control — which is possessed by the Ameri- 
cans and by the French more than by any other race or people. I 
need not, should not, speak of those social gifts, those fascinating per- 
sonal qualities, which make him, apart from his distinguished position 
in the artist world, a welcome and sought-for figure in high places. 

It would be expected that Mr. Tree with his deep imagination 
should feel an impulse to put Ibsen’s plays upon the stage, — plays 
in which the searching philosophy of life and potent logic of the 
emotions show out in language that never wastes, that is simple 
almost to commonplaceness, yet full of poetry, and topped by great 
situations when the movement of the figures is quiet; the whole force 
lying in the powerful dilemma or the inevitable end. And so Mr. 
Tree has appeared lately in An Enemy of the People,” reaping, 
I am bound to say, no particular harvest of success as to the popu- 
larity of the play, though much appreciation as to his playing. Yet 
one need not dwell upon this point, for, somehow, most people 
acting in Ibsen’s plays have been more praised than have been the 


HERBERT BEERBOHM TREE, 


121 


plays themselves. More subtle, to my mind, more poetic, more fanciful 
and deep, was Mr. Tree’s playing of the Grandfather in Maeterlinck’s 
L’Intruse,” for here came out again that most notable touch of the 
eerie of which I have written above, as was the case also with his 
playing of the social devil in The Tempter,” though the gentleman 
himself, as Mr. Henry Arthur Jones showed him forth, was an amazing 
combination of Dr. Watts, Goethe, Marlowe, George Meredith, and the 
Society of Stereotyped Smartness. For my own part, I feel that Mr. 
Tree has yet to play his greatest character. Where it will come from 
I know not, but that it will give an opportunity for a revelation of fas- 
cinating diablerie^ of mercurial mood and fancy, of the fire and cloud 
of good and evil, of inexhaustible finesse, unbelievable sweetness, and 
delicate malice, I have no moment’s doubt. I conceive him in a char- 
acter subtly bad, with instincts and logic declaring for good, placing 
his career and life on one wicked hazard, which, winning, should start 
him on the highway of a new and better life, or, losing, send him 
baffled to the devil. I do not wish to hint that Mr. Tree has not done 
big work; I know that he has; but he has not done his biggest, and 
I know that he will when the real chance comes. Meanwhile, the 
American public will have a chance to enjoy the most admirable, some- 
times great, acting of a man who has earned his place beside Mr. Irving 
in the eyes of the British public, by a career as varied, as consistent, 
and as devoted as an artist’s should be. 

Only forty-one years old, Mr. Tree has been on the stage profes- 
sionally seventeen years, yet he played, as a distinguished amateur, at 
least a hundred and fifty parts before he appeared as Grimaldi at the 
Globe Theatre in 1877. Farce, farcical comedy, melodrama, comedy, 
drama, tragedy, — he has nourished, enlarged, made flexuous and rich 
the higher qualities of his maturer acting by the full exercise of all his 
emotional and imaginative faculties. Where’s the Cat?” Little Miss 
Muffet,” ^^The Private Secretary” (which he created), “Forget-me- 
Not,” ‘^Breaking a Butterfly,” ^‘Helena and Troas,” ‘^The Pompa- 
dour,” Wealth,” The Village Priest,” The School for Scandal,” 
‘‘Hamlet,” and as lago and King John, — what a range of character 
is here ! He has played “ L’Aventuri^re” in French, and this year he 
has played “ Hamlet” in German in Berlin. Adventurous as he thus 
seems, Mr. Tree has the one thing that justifies daring: he has the 
power to “pull things off ;” he has the convincing good fortune — for 
want of a less modest word — of success. Americans are true lov^ers 
of the drama, more delicately, if not more widely, appreciative than 
the British ; and, as I have said, the irony, the weird humor, the 
elusive force, the well-balanced intensity of Mr. Tree’s acting will 
win the cheerful and general applause of New York, Philadelphia, 
Boston, Chicago, and those other cities “of large measure and infinite 
capacity.” Mr. Tree’s acting has romance, has buoyant fantasy ; his 
Mistress Art has a face of light, color, warmth, has the sadness of 
Penelope, the abandon of Ariadne, the passion of Aphrodite; and 
behind all is a distinguished temperament, which plays its strong 
part in the rejoicing influences of modern life, — in its commendable 
recreations. 


122 


A PRODIGAL FRIEND. 


I cannot close this imperfect study — note I would better call it 
— than by quoting Mr. Tree’s own words, from the lecture I have 
before mentioned. Speaking of the highest achievements of Art,” 
he says, Its loftiest mission is to preserve for us, amid the din and 
clash of life, those illusions which are its better part,” and so on. In 
Mr. Tree’s acting, and in the refined, poetic, and deeply appreciative 
acting of Mrs. Tree (singularly clever in A Bunch of Violets,” ex- 
quisite as Ophelia), these illusions have their way with us, gilding, as 
Mr. Tree says it, ‘‘ old age with the after-glow of youth.” 

Gilbert Parker, 


A FBODIGAL FRIEND. 

T he horizon had narrowed to a circle of gray ; the fields were gray, 
and the sky was gray with threatened snow. At intervals a 
furious wind swept wisps of yellow straw and shrivelled leaves over 
the frozen road. 

The minister stopped on the outskirts of the town to exchange a 
few words with a woman leaning in the door of her cottage : 

The mill closed early to-day.” 

We made half-time.” 

An extra holiday won’t hurt ; and to-morrow’s Christmas.” 

It’s no odds to me,” said the woman, without change of expres- 
sion on her heavy sullen face. 

He struck with his stafi* the jagged edge of a flint frozen firmly in 
the ground. There was something he wished to say and found difficult. 
He knew his mill people; they had their conventionalities, not to be 
lightly transgressed. It was not easy to speak of an affair of the heart. 
He generalized. 

This is a time,” he said, didactically, when old scores ought to 
be forgiven and discharged in full ; when no wrong should be remem- 
bered except to be repaid with loving-kindness.” 

<< I’ve got no wrong to lay up against anybody,” interrupted Martha. 
She looked down into his eyes until he turned them away and began 
again to strike at the flint. 

At this time in particular, if Providence should send across our 
path her — one who has dealt us our sharpest blow, who has deceived 
us most treacherously, we should forgive and help ; we should aid 
and succor this person in distress for the sake of the Babe of Beth- 
lehem.” 

Martha interrupted again : 

I don’t know of any such.” 

He looked at her reproachfully; he was a shy man, and dared 
come no nearer the subject than she allowed. He bade her good- 
day, and went down the windy road. He thought he knew her story. 


A PRODIGAL FRIEND, 123 

— that some years ago she had been betrayed at once by love and 
friendship. 

She went into the house and sat down before the fire. Her thought 
lingered on the picture called up by the minister’s last words, — the Babe 
of Bethlehem. She did not know much about babies. 

Her rooms were neat and comfortable ; preparation for the Christ- 
mas feast stood upon a table by the kitchen window. 

There came a quick step upon the threshold, a lifting of the latch, 
and a neighbor entered. She was a small, thin woman, with a shawl 
drawn closely over her head and across the lower part of her face, so 
that only a pair of keen eyes and heavy brows were visible. 

It’s beginnin’ to snow,” she said, an’ it’s gittin’ late, but I jus’ 
dropped everything an’ run up to see if you’d heard the news.” 

Martha knew what she had come to tell ; she had expected it for 
five years. She drew a rocking-chair upon the hearth and bade her 
visitor sit close to the fire before she asked, — 

‘‘ What news?” 

The woman threw back her shawl and held out her hands to the 
blaze. 

‘‘ As sure as you’re alive. Nan Snell’s come back and’s down in that 
old shanty of Foutz’s over fornenst the woods road. Tom Meirs seen 
her. She had a bundle ’most as big as herself, an’ seemed like she 
wanted to git out of his sight. I should think she would — her! I 
should think she’d be ashamed to show her face here.” 

I don’t know as she need be afeard of me,” said Martha. 

If I was you I’d put on my shawl and I’d go down to Foutz’s an’ 
give her a piece of my mind that she wouldn’t soon forget. She put 
it in his head.” 

’Tain’t my way to multiply words.” 

Well, you know best.” 

She gathered her shawl over her shoulders and stood up. 

‘‘Your bakin’ and everything done? I don’t begin mine till after 
supper, Christmas eve. I’m bakin’ a lot for the children. An’ you 
got a turkey? Well,” she added, a trifle enviously, “ we’d have turkey 
too, if there wasn’t so many mouths to fill, but with seven head and 
only one out of the lot old enough to go to the mill, what’s a body to 
do? I got a roast o’ beef. I’ll have my roast o’ beef on Christmas 
if I have to borry a pan to roast it in ; if you got one handy ’at you 
could spare I’d be ’bliged to you.” 

Martha took an iron pan from the closet and offered it. 

“ I guess that’ll do. You ain’t got a bit o’ drippin’ you don’t want 
yourself? No? It don’t matter.” 

She grasped her shawl under her chin and went out, but thrust her 
head in through the door to say, — 

“ If you take my advice you’ll go down to Foutz’s an’ give Nan 
Snell the tongue-lashin’ she deserves.” 

Martha w^atched her out of sight, then she stood on a chair in front 
of the cupboard and reached back on the topmost shelf for a china 
sugar-bowl. She took off the lid and drew out a folded paper, — her 
certificate of marriage. 


124 


A PRODIGAL FRIEND. 


The minister and the mill people who made sure of all her story had 
not known that it was her husband, and not her lover, who went off 
with Nan Snell. 

The mill people were secretive, devious in their ways, especially as 
to ways matrimonial. They found a singular satisfaction in consum- 
mating marriages and in keeping them hidden as long as possible. In 
regard to this the minister preached and reasoned in vain. 

Martha went to the window and spelled over every word before 
she pinned the paper in the bosom of her gown. She wrapped herself 
in her shawl and left the house. 

Snow had begun to fall through the dusk, to be whirled away into 
a gray shadow which claimed the long hard road. 

As she went on in the teeth of the wind, one hand holding her 
shawl beneath her chin, the other grasping hard the paper, her thought 
took on a singular duality, changing suddenly and involuntarily from 
her own experience to all she had ever heard of the story of the Na- 
tivity. Instead of sad fields stretching on either hand, of trees rising 
shadowy through the snow, of brown leaves in frozen ditches, she saw 
by turns Nan SnelPs frightened face and the vision of a child on 
the straw of a manger. She felt swift alternations of bitternass and 
tenderness. 

The cottage stood back from the highway ; it was a deserted place, 
given over to decay or the occupancy of an occasional tramp. 

Martha stood for a moment listening, her hand raised as if she 
would lift the latch. There was a low sound from within, a babbling 
murmur. She went around to the window and looked through a 
broken blind — upon the materialization of the vision that had clung to 
her through the last few hours. 

The corners of the room were in darkness, but a fire of dry branches 
made a brilliant glow upon the hearth. In the light and warmth, upon 
a heap of yellow straw, lay a young child. He had kicked away his 
garments; his naked limbs gleamed whitely. 

Martha covered her eyes with her hand ; she hesitated between a 
beautiful superstition and an unwelcome reality. She had not thought 
of Nan Snell as the mother of a child. A fiercer jealousy than she 
had ever known suggested itself. There was one more motive for 
punishing the false friend ; but there was another, mightier still, for 
withholding her hand. 

When she looked again, the baby’s mother was standing over 
him, with one of the discarded garments hanging loosely from her 
clasp. 

Martha stepped upon the threshold and tried the latch ; the door 
was fastened from within. She set her knee against it, and the bolt 
yielded. 

By the light of the fire she saw Nan Snell’s face as she had known 
she would see it, — guilty, entreating, with a look of inetfective resist- 
ance in the blue eyes. In the presence of the child she could not put 
into words what she had intended to say. Beneath her shawl her hand 
closed over the certificate in her bosom. She stood with her back 
against the door, a woman past thirty, her history in her face. 


A PRODIGAL FRIEND. 


125 


Nan spoke first : 

I’m a honest woman ; never you think but I’m a honest woman. 
He married me in Richfield. I’ve got my paper safe enough.” She 
laid her hand upon her breast. ‘‘ I can hold up my head with the best 
of you.” 

She broke down and cried, covering her face with the little ragged 
petticoat which she still held in her hand. 

Oh, Marthy, Marthy, Marthy !” 

Martha did not move. She was back in the days when she had 
taken Nan the waif to her home. 

Outward expression of tenderness was an impossibility to Martha. 
The other had come of different blood from that of the stolid mill 
people ; a softer strain made it easy for her to kiss and clasp. The 
remembrance of these blandishments overwhelmed her; she felt Nan’s 
arms about her shoulders, Nan’s lips upon her throat. Body and soul 
acknowledged how much Nan had been — was even yet — loved, and 
the singular unreality with which her imagination invested the child 
helped to charm away the bitterness of recollection. 

If anybody’s done as wrong as me,” said Nan, brokenly, there’s 
a punishment for ’em, — a punishment that’ll last forever.” 

She came close to Martha and touched a fold of her gown. 

“ I can’t ask God to forgive me till you do.” 

Seeing that she was not repulsed, she crept beneath Martha’s shawl 
and reached up in the old way, but humbly, to press her lips against 
her throat. 

I won’t ask God to forgive me till you do.” 

After a moment Martha pushed her away and pointed to the fire, 
which had sunk to a heap of embers : 

The fire’s gettin’ low ; it’ll be cold enough in here after a bit for 
him — with no clothes on, too. Where’s your wood?” 

Nan left the room. Martha unpinned the certificate from the bosom 
of her gown and ran to the hearth ; she lifted the baby from the straw 
and forced the paper between his fingers. 

What difference does it make to anybody?” she said, below her 
breath. ‘‘Nobody ever knew but him and the preacher and me, and 
they’re both dead. Who cares now?” 

She raised the baby high over the hearth. 

“Drop it! drop it!” she cried, fiercely, as he kept fast hold of the 
folded sheet ; “drop it, before I think of things that’ll make me take it 
back.” 

It fluttered down upon the embers, flared in an eager flame, and 
turned from a scorched shrivelled thing to a shred of silvery ash, 
which a few minutes later Nan dissipated forever with an armful of 
snowy wood. 

Night had fallen when Martha left the house ; snow lay ankle-deep 
upon the ground. The wind brought snatches of music from the 
ringing belfry of the church beyond the fields, and all the stormy way 
was glorified as by a vision. 

S. Elgar Benet, 


126 


BY TELEPHONE. 


TO THE NEW YEAR. 

W AS it forth from the flakes of drifting snow, 

As they ceaselessly hurry them to and fro, 

Thou earnest to-day, O white New Year? 

Or out from the golden gates of Dawn 
When an angel opened them wide, at morn, 

Didst thou come this way, O bright New Year? 

Was it forth from the realms of an unknown land. 

Sent hither by touch of an unseen hand, 

Thou earnest to-day, O blest New Year? 

Or out from the shades of the saddened past. 

Where the Old Year cares are hid at last. 

Hast thou come this way, O best New Year? 

Was it down from the heaven that spreads above 
And forth from the land of Eternal Love 
Thou earnest to-day, O benign New Year? 

Is it into this world so stained by sin, 

With thy spotless robe thou hast entered in, 

And come to stay, O divine New Year? 

Kathleen R. Wheeler. 


BY TELEPHONE. 

O FFICER Tim McCarthy was just preparing for his night watch at 
the Kickapoo police station. His preparations were quite simple. 
The foundations had been laid at Jim Sullivan^s ‘^sample-room” just 
around the corner, and the materials for a superstructure were contained 
in a peculiar flat bottle whose cork projected from the hip-pocket that 
was not occupied by his “ billy.” Other resources for the dull hours 
of the night were to be seen in the ends of four very long and black 
cigars that protruded from an upper vest-pocket. On the whole, when 
Officer McCarthy had got his feet comfortably elevated on the office 
desk and his cigar lighted, and had piled up by his side a copy of a 
pink paper supposed to be made specially for policemen, a dime novel 
written by “A New York Reporter” on the sensational crime of the 
day, and the latest copy of a penny New York journal also apparently 
made specially for policemen, he felt that there might be worse things 
in life than a turn at station duty, even for a sociable man. To be 
sure, if he had taken his regular beat at the “ Flatiron” he would 
have been asked to drink as many glasses as even the thirstiest soul 
could desire, but, on the other hand, he would doubtless have had the 
labor of clubbing at least three “drunks” into a state of tranquillity 


BV TELEPHONE, 


127 


and acquiescence, and clubbing is severe exercise on a sultry July night 
when the thermometer has been climbing steadily up toward the hun- 
dreds all the afternoon and shows no signs at night of yielding any of 
the advantage gained while the sun was up. But with one’s coat off 
and a big fan at hand one might exist very comfortably by the base- 
ment window in the office, in spite of the heat and the glare of the 
flickering gas-jets. Ordinarily he could make himself still more com- 
fortable by taking his chair out-doors, but this night the chief had 
given strict orders not to leave the office for a moment and to keep a 
sharp outlook to see that no word was passed from outside to any of 
the prisoners. The reason for this rigor was that a bird of unusual 
rarity had been captured, a real professional burglar who probably 
belonged to a gang, and the chief wanted to keep him ignorant of the 
fate of the rest, so that he might be ‘‘worked” by the fear of state’s 
evidence. The cells lay in the basement of the Kickapoo city hall, 
and were completely isolated from the outside world when a guard 
occupied the front office that led to the side of the hall from which the 
police department was approached. 

Officer McCarthy had lighted his second cigar and had just started 
on a highly flavored story in the pink paper, which by the realistic 
pictures with which it was illustrated seemed to pertain to the seventh 
commandment, when the telephone over his head gave five sharp rings. 
With a sad but resigned look he laid aside the fascinating sheet, and, 
uncoiling from his luxurious position, took down the receiver of the 
telephone. 

“ Hello !” he shouted, in tones that to an experienced listener at the 
other end would correctly suggest a very red nose. 

“ Hello !” came back the dim ghost of an answer. “ Is this the 
Kickapoo police station ?” 

“ Yes. Who is this?” 

“This is the Brookfield Republican talking. Can you tell me the 
name of the man you have in to-night for attempted burglary?” 

At this precise instant, by a singular coincidence, a young man 
some eight miles away from Kickapoo broke into a long and violent fit 
of profanity. He was a very good-looking young man, with dark 
moustache and hair, and a general air of jauntiness and imperturbability 
which marked him as a newspaper man. He was sitting at the long- 
distance telephone of the Brookfield Republican^ alternately holding the 
cup to his ear and then replacing it in its rack and madly turning the 
crank. At such times he fell to using language with such a strong 
and pervasive flavor of the hereafter that the girl at “ Central” gently 
rebuked him for his emphatic speech. He had spent the greater part 
of the evening in a vain wrestle with the tricksy imps of the wire. 
There was just enough electricity in the air to make the diaphragms 
snap like castanets, and for some reason “ Central” could not give him 
a metallic circuit, and the “ induction” was so great that he could hear 
almost everything under the sun except what he was listening for. He 
called up the chairman of the Kickapoo street-lighting committee, and 
overheard instead an animated and picturesque discussion between a 
bereaved Hibernian lady and a grasping undertaker who was proposing 


128 


BV TELEPHONE. 


to charge her five dollars extra for taking his new hearse out in the 
mud. He called up the railroad station, and heard two fond mothers 
comparing cases of measles. And finally, when he had tried to ring 
up the police station, he had found the wire in use. It was then that 
‘‘ Central’^ fii'st began to complain of his speech. The city editor also 
came to the closet, a mild-mannered man with a soft brown beard, and 
asked gently what had broken loose. For reply he got only a subdued 

‘^Shh for Hagg, the reporter, had just heard a ghostly whisper 

from somewhere in the great net-work of wires tell the Kickapoo police 
station, This is the Republican talking.’^ The deuce it is f’ mut- 
tered Hagg. ‘^If it’s some one trying to work a scoop there’ll be 
trouble right off. See?” And he listened breathlessly to the myste- 
rious conversation. 

“It’s th’ burrglar ye want?” wheezed the red-nosed voice of the 
Kickapoo policeman. “ Sure his name’s John Callahan.” 

“ Once more, please.” 

“John Callahan.” 

“ Flanagan ?” 

“ Callahan ! C-a-l-l-a-h-a-n, Callahan. C for cat, you know. A, 
B, C.” 

“All right; John Cameron.” Evidently the unknown speakers 
were having as much difficulty with the wire as Hagg had found, but 
after another more successful wrestle he heard the policeman say, in a 
relieved way, — 

“That’s right. John Callahan.” 

“ And, by the way, can you tell me the name of the New York 
crook that is wanted at Kickapoo? We wished to make up a para- 
graph about him, and I can’t find his name in our files.” At the cool- 
ness of this statement on the part of the outsider Hagg’s jaw dropped, 
and he was unable even to swear, which, in a newspaper man, argues a 
low state of vitality. 

“ James Lafferty,” came the answer of the policeman. 

“ James Rafferty ?” 

“ Lafferty ; L for lobster, you know. H, I, J, K, L. Lafferty.” 

“James Lafferty ; all right. Did you have anything else to-day?” 

“ Nothing at all ; all quiet, very quiet.” And the conversation 
ceased for a minute. 

Then the voice of the unknown speaker asked, — 

“ Hagg is not in, is he ?” 

“ That reporter fellow ?” (“ Reporter fellow, indeed !” snorted the 

person in question, indignantly.) “ No, he has not been in this evening. 
Shall I ring you up when he comes?” 

“ No, never mind. I will leave a message for him, though. Have 
you a pencil handy ? I am rather particular to get it straight.” 

“All right; go ahead.” 

“Just give your bird’s name once more, won’t you ?” asked the 
unknown reporter before beginning on his dictation. The policeman 
once more bawled out the name of John Callahan. 

“ All right ; I’ve got that straight now. Here goes. Just hand it 
to him when he comes in. — Don’t get rattled — have you got that?” 


BV TELEPHONE. 


129 


All right/’ 

^^Take things cool, and we’ll do this job up in good shape. — Do 
you get that?” 

All right.” 

I’ll run down and meet you at the North Side,” 

^^All right.” 

About 3.30, and we’ll fix this thing up right. Look sharp, Dick, 
— Got that, have you ?” the telephone asked, after a moment’s pause. 

“ All right.” 

Very good : just read it over to me, will you? I’d like to make 
sure you have it all right.” 

At this modest request there were strong symptoms of rebellion. 
Officer McCarthy was not in an amiable mood by this time, but he had 
a manifest respect for the Republicariy which had kindly refrained from 
giving a ^^descriptive write-up” of his efforts at climbing a tree while 
in a state of spirituous exaltation. After a little quiet grumbling he 
dutifully repeated the message from end to end. 

All right. Just give that to him, will you ? Good-night.” 

All right. Good-night.” 

There was a sharp little tinkle signifying that the conversation was 
over, and then another wild peal for Central,” and 808.5 was called 
again. 

Hello ! Is this you, McCarthy ?” 

Yes.” (Very shortly.) 

Well, say, you needn’t give that to Hagg. He has just come in, 
and we will fix it up. Much obliged. Good-night.” 

All right. Good-night.” 

And the patrolman once more elevated his feet to the table, relighted 
his cigar, and proceeded with infinite labor — he was not a rapid reader 
— to find the place in his salacious history where he had left off. And 
so the night seemed to be passing very tranquilly at the Kickapoo 
police station. 

The moment that this interesting telephonic conversation ceased, 
Barnabas Hagg began twisting violently at the telephone bell crank 
and calling out loudly for Central.” 

^^Who was that talking with 808.5?” he asked, when he had pre- 
vailed over the elements. 

I don’t know. He was a Republican reporter. He was talking 
from Bramley.” 

The deuce you say ! Give me Bramley central.” 

A long ring. 

Hello ! Is this Bramley central ?” 

^^Yes.” 

Who rang up the Kickapoo police station just now?” 

Dunno ; that’s in your exchange. The only call for Brookfield 
was from a public pay-station.” 

What one?” 

403.3.” 

Give me that.” 

'•All right.” 

VoL. LV.— 9 


130 


BY TELEPHONE. 


Ting-a-ling-ting. 

‘‘ Hello ! Is this Mr. Bradley 

Yes.^^ 

^^All right. This is Hagg talking. Who called up Brookfield 
Central?’^ 

Just now, you mean?’^ 

^‘Yes.'^ 

I declare I don’t know. He was a complete stranger to me.” 

What sort of looking man ?” 

Why, just an ordinary-looking fellow, about thirty-five, tall and 
slim, with darkish hair; that’s all I remember. Perhaps my wife 
noticed him more.” 

Just ask her, will you, please?” 

A pause. 

My wife says he had a red scar under the right ear, and a sort of 
patch of white hair over the right temple. She thinks his teeth are 
false, because they are so white.” 

All right. Much obliged. Good-night.” 

Good-night.” 

Hagg took a moment to think before resuming his work. That 
some sort of scheme was being worked was evident. People do not, 
as a rule, call up police stations and pay out money for telephone tolls 
merely for fun and without any end in view. But what was that end ? 
There was no scoop in it, so far as he could make out. It was hard 
to see what object any reporter could have in holding such a conversa- 
tion. He was a pretty shrewd sort of fellow, and had done enough 
police reporting to have his wits tolerably well trained, but he was 
unable to hit upon anything that shed the least ray of light upon the 
mysterious conversation. He had a half-column of Kickapoo news to 
‘‘clean up,” and then had to run over the river to West Brookfield to 
report a fire and a drowning accident. It was after midnight when 
he had got hold of the facts and had put his stuff on the wires, and, 
as the cars had stopped long since, there was nothing for him to do 
but “shag” along home on foot, as the Republican's counting-room 
did not honor bills for livery service except on special and important 
missions. Somehow the cool night air, the fresh smell of the meadows, 
and the stimulus of the walk set his brain to work with such increased 
vigor that he had not gone above half a mile from the little country 
station when the solution of the whole case flashed upon him like an 
inspiration. He wasted a good half-minute in imprecations upon his 
stupidity. Then he groaned to think that he was four miles from 
home and twelve from Kickapoo, where he was urgently needed. He 
struck a match and looked at his watch. It lacked a quarter to one. 
There were still two hours and a half left. Much might be done in 
two hours and a half. He ran back the half-mile to the railroad 
station. The lights were out. The operator had gone. He was pre- 
paring to smash a window and climb in, when he caught a glimpse of 
a slim white form disappearing in the moonlight. He whistled shrilly 
on his fingers and ran in that direction. It was Miss Gates, the 
operator. 


BY TELEPHONE. 


131 


It^s too bad, Lizzy he panted, but I shall have to bother you 

again 

She was the most accommodating of operators, and after her first 
fright at seeing herself pursued had disappeared she went back to the 
office, and Hagg scribbled off the following : 

Brookfield Republican : 

‘‘ Hold open. I have a fat thing, good for a column. In before 
four o’clock. 

Hagg/’ 

He bade the operator good-night, and then he drew a long breath 
and prepared for work. He looked around for an instant, and then 
plunged into the dark in the direction of a livery-stable that he re- 
membered having seen. A light was burning in the office, but no one 
was in sight. He rang the call-bell furiously, and then groped his 
way into the inner room, fragrant with horses and new-mown hay. 
A boy stumbled to his feet from a nest of buffalo robes, and Hagg 
shook him until he gradually woke up. 

“ Now then, young one,” the reporter tersely remarked, pulling out 
something that rustled with a crisp, pleasant sound, ‘‘ do you want to 
earn that?” 

The boy’s eyes sparkled in spite of their sleepiness. 

What is your fastest horse?” 

Joker.” 

Well, get me Joker in a light dog-cart in — let me see, in five 
minutes, and you have this for your own.” 

He was awake by this time, and the way his fingers flew was some- 
thing astonishing. He was a smart youth, and knew that reporters 
do not go driving for pleasure at that hour of the night. Joker 
sniffed and chewed at his crib as though surprised at the unusual hour 
for being taken out. In two minutes he was standing harnessed in 
the flickering lantern-light, a tall, lean, muscular bay, with mighty 
limbs and a wicked eye. In four minutes they had him in the dog- 
cart. Giving the boy his easily-earned fee, Hagg took the ribbons 
and twisted the robe about him for a start. Joker seemed to be in the 
mood for a race, but Hagg held him in till he got used to his pace and 
then let him out by degrees. He snorted and tossed his head and then 
settled down to a great twelve-mile stride. Almost in the twinkling 
of an eye, it seemed to Hagg, they turned into the river road, and 
then they flew up a narrow, lonely lane with stubby blackberry-bushes 
stretching for miles in all directions. There were no fences on either 
side, and occasionally shadowy forms of cattle would snort and scram- 
ble out of the way as they went by. On the other side was the river, 
forty feet below, with nothing to prevent a fall if Joker should shy or 
stumble. Fortunately, the moon was bright now. It was getting 
low, and would be down by three o’clock, but by that time they would 
be on a safer road. He glanced at his watch and saw with relief that 
it was only one-forty-five. With the present pace they ought to make 
the remaining distance inside of three-quarters of an hour. He had 


132 


BV TELEPHONE. 


not counted, though, on the swamp road, which was a little heavy after 
recent rains, and he did not perceive a very black and ugly thunder- 
storm that was coming up the river behind him. He had forgotten, 
too, that such a thing as an accident was possible. They pulled through 
the swamp at a six-mile gait, and then he let Joker out again. They 
were going along beautifully, when something black loomed up in the 
distanc‘e ahead. Joker gave a plunge to one side; there was a crash, 
a shock, and Hagg found himself lying on the roadside with a gash in 
his head and a disabled arm. He was half stunned for a moment, and 
then some one picked him up. It was the occupant of the carriage 
that he had run into. 

Here’s a bad job,” said the stranger. Shall I take you home 
after I have fixed you up ? I’m a doctor, you know.” 

No time for doctoring,” groaned Hagg, between his clinched teeth, 
for the arm gave him great pain. Will you help me get on my 
horse? You have broken my buggy.” 

Why, my good man, you can’t ride that horse with a broken 
arm.” 

‘‘ I must.” 

Nonsense ! Let me tie him to a tree, and I will take you wherever 
you say.” 

The doctor took Joker’s harness off and laid it in the broken car- 
riage, and, tying the horse to a tree, covered him with a heavy blanket 
so that there was little danger of his suffering from the cold. Then he 
carefully helped the sufferer into his goddard and gave him a good 
swallow out of a bottle in his case. 

Ah !” said the patient, in a tone that indicated that the remedy 
had struck to the right place. 

Now then ?” said the doctor, inquiringly, as he gathered up the 
reins and adjusted the robes. 

Kickapoo,” answered Hagg, huddling into a corner. His arm 
pained him intensely, but he refrained from asking the doctor to go 
slower. The brown mare Bessie was a flyer, and got over the ground 
quite as fast as Joker, though not in such a savage or showy way. 
The speed was soon broken, however, by the bursting of the great storm 
that had been gathering all the evening. The doctor leaped down 
and hurriedly fastened the snug curtains and adjusted the boot, and in 
another moment a perfect deluge of water came down, accompanied 
with wind and lightning. Fortunately the storm was from behind, so 
that the speed was not so greatly hindered as it would otherwise have 
been. 

Aren’t you Dr. Carnegie ?” asked Hagg, looking up suddenly and 
seeing his driver by a flash of lightning. 

Well, yes,” I admitted, ^Hhat is my name.” 

I’m for the Republican.’^ 

Aren’t you newspaper men pretty enterprising to be out at this 
time of night, driving over country roads at a break-neck speed?” 

Oh, it’s a big thing, doctor ; a big thing, I can tell you. I never 
expect to get anything like it again.” And in as few words as possible 
he told me substantially the history already narrated. I gave Bessie 


Br TELEPHONE, I33 

a little flick with the whip, which made the steady old mare start in a 
highly astonished manner. 

‘^How much time is there 

Plenty/^ I said, consulting my watch. 

And even as I spoke the carriage rumbled into the old-fashioned 
covered bridge. Only two more miles to the city hall. The roads are 
streets now, the streets are lighted by electric lights, and Brown Bess 
pricks up her ears and lengthens her stride. 

This way,^^ Hagg indicated, and I turned off into a smooth, 
heavily shaded residence-street, and then into a lane of low brick 
tenements, among which stood the house of Chief Riley. Putting the 
reins in Hagg’s sound hand, I leaped down and pounded vigorously at 
the door. Door-bells were quite unknown in Emerald Street. The 
chief came out in shirt and trousers and leaned on the carriage-wheel 
while Hagg stammered out a little of his story, not being able to talk 
in a straightforward way on account of his pain and fatigue. The 
chief looked incredulous as he stood with one foot on the carriage-step, 
trying to twist his suspenders straight. 

Finally the reporter came to the description of the man, tall, lean, 
thirty-five, with the party-colored hair and the red scar under the right 
ear. 

The devil said the chief. That means trouble. Let me get 
my coat.’^ He was back in a minute and climbed into the roomy 
goddard. 

Are you gents armed he asked, and he handed each of us some- 
thing that glittered in the white light of the arc lamps. 

‘‘This way,’^ said the chief, and, following his lead, we soon caught 
sight of a helmeted figure passing under a light. The chief gave a 
queer little chirrup, and the man stopped. 

“It’s you, is it, Hafey?” said the chief, and, jumping down, he 
gave some brief instructions. “ He’ll pick up Sullivan and Nesbit,” 
he said, as he climbed in again. “ We’ll get one more man.” 

We soon found him, and then we drove by a back way to the old 
church by the city hall. Riley helped Hagg down, I made my horse 
secure in the church stables, and then we all stole gently across the 
grass-plot to the east side of the city hall, which was farthest away 
from the part of the basement that contained the police offices and cells. 
The chief softly unlocked an iron door, and we all stole in. It was 
black as pitch inside, but we managed to make our way through the 
corridors to a heavy iron-barred door that separated the court-rooms 
from the cells and the police oflBce. This he also unlocked, and we 
were at our destination. 

“ Listen,” whispered the chief, and in the breathless silence we 
could hear a faint, thin, whining noise. 

“ A saw,” he said, “ and a deuced well oiled one, too.” 

We could see into the police office. There sat the guard. Officer 
McCarthy, tilted back in his arm-chair, with a long black cigar in 
his mouth and a pink newspaper in his hands. Over his head was 
a flickering gas-jet that set every motion he made in bold relief. At 
his left was an open window heavily grated, opening into the little 


134 


BV TELEPHONE. 


square. A grating also separated him from the next room or corridor. 
These cells also had doors of iron grating, opening into the corridor. 
We could see the cell doors without being seen ourselves, and it was 
not without a thrill that I saw a white face suddenly gleam at one of 
them and then vanish in the interior gloom. 

‘‘That’s him,” said the chief, comprehensively. 

The sound of cutting, which had ceased for a moment, now re- 
commenced, as though the operator were satisfied that nothing was 
amiss. 

“ We have no time to lose,” said the chief. “ I wish we had one 
more man. No matter ; it’s got to go through now\ You two stay 
here and watch those cells. It’s no use calling McCarthy ; he must be 
kept quiet for a decoy ; but if you see any one outside the window 
there, blow this whistle. They won’t risk that till the last moment. I 
shan’t probably need you for anything except to keep watch.” 

I tried to prevail on Hagg to sit down, but he refused. He was so 
excited now that he seemed not to feel the pain of his wound. The 
chief vanished noiselessly in the gloom, and we stood at our post, afraid 
and yet anxious for something to happen. Wearily the moments 
dragged along. The first sign of life that I heard was a low cough, 
three times repeated, in the cell from which the sawing came. Then 
there was a grinding sound as of grating iron. Apparently some one 
was twisting a cut bar out of the way. In a few moments I heard a 
low whistle outside, and a minute later a sharp command, an oath, a 
pistol-shot, a faint groan. There was a sudden tumult inside the cells. 
Officer McCarthy finally aroused himself from his fascinating pink 
journal, and, snatching club and revolver, rushed into the next room. 
There was a little scuffle, the dull cracking sound of a club falling on 
a human skull, and then quiet except for the astonished oaths of the 
policeman. Outside there were two more shots, followed by flying 
footsteps, and then the chief panted down the basement steps. “We 
have bagged two of them,” he said, triumphantly, “and the third is a 
sure thing. — Want help, McCarthy?” McCarthy needed no help, and 
the chief flew up the steps again. In two minutes he reappeared, lead- 
ing a battered wreck of a man in hand-cuffs. He conducted his pris- 
oner to a cell and went out again. This time he and another officer 
reappeared together, carrying the limp and inanimate form of a 
wounded man. 

“ He’s not so bad as he looks,” said the chief, “ but it will be a 
while before he gets around again.” He was deposited in the hospital 
room. When the grated doors had swung shut, a policeman was 
stationed at each of the cells, and then the chief, with a look of great 
relief on his face, led the way to his private room. 

“ How in Tophet did you ever come to know anything about this?” 
he asked. 

Hagg told him as distinctly as he could, but was not able to repeat 
the whole of the conversation verbatim. 

“You say McCarthy took it down?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ McCarthy !” 


BV TELEPHONE. 


135 

Yes, sorr/^ And the policeman appeared at the door opening 
from the main office. 

Have you a message that was sent to this gentleman by telephone 
this evening? Telephoned in to you, you understand 

The policeman scratched his head a moment, and then began to 
grope around in the contents of a big waste-paper basket. 

Here it is, sorr,^^ he said, holding out a crumpled sheet of print- 
ing-paper scribbled over with lead-pencil. The chief looked at it in- 
tently for a minute. 

‘‘ What question did you say was asked just before this was re- 
peated 

Hagg told him. 

I thought so. Listen, will you ? 

John Callahan : 

Don’t get rattled. Take things cool, and we’ll do this job up in 
good shape. I’ll run down and meet you at the North Side about 
3.30, and we’ll fix this thing up right. Look sharp. Dick.” 

Isn’t it all right, sorr?” asked McCarthy, anxiously. Is there 
anything the matther?” 

Nothing at all, McCarthy. You may go.” And the policeman’s 
burly form disappeared. 

Not cut out for a detective,” said the chief, grimly, but he can 
hold down the Mickies at a dance.” 

Hagg looked at his watch. It was just three-forty-five. 

‘‘ I shall have to use your telephone a while, chief.” 

Fire away.” 

I stepped into the hospital room to help the city physician dress the 
injured prisoner’s wounds, and then drove home, after bidding Hagg 
good-night. I meant to buy a paper and see what he made of his 
story, but in some way I forgot it, as I have no time for newspaper 
reading, and I did not hear anything more about the case till I met 
Hagg on the street a month later, looking unusually prosperous. 

“ How did you come out?” I asked. 

Great. I dictated a solid column to a short-hander in the office. 
It was the greatest beat in the history of the paper. The Democrat 
didn’t have a line in the morning. The old man paid my doctor’s 
bills, paid for the smashed buggy, and the next week put me on a 
desk.” 

‘‘ Ah ?” I said, inquiringly, not being used to the peculiar language 
of reporters. 

‘‘ Yes,” he reaffirmed ; I’m assistant city editor now.” 

The rising young journalist puffed contentedly at his cigar. 

And it was worth it, too,” he presently observed, in a philosophical 
mood. It isn’t every day that the country police have a chance to 
nab Red Gallagher.” 

Oh !” said I, with a real approach to enthusiasm. 

For even I had heard of Red Gallagher. 


Francis E. Regal. 


136 


NEW YEAR'S DAYS IN OLD NEW YORK. 


NEW YEARNS DAYS IN OLD NEW YORK. 

A S a child, in my own parental household, I remember that New 
Year’s Day was held more important than Christmas Day. We 
children always hung up our stockings on New Year’s eve, and, for 
all I can recollect, believed in a Santa Claus who had not been so ex- 
hausted by the fatigues of Christmas that he was unable to pull him- 
self together a week later and descend our particular chimney. Look- 
ing back upon this New Year custom of present-giving which prevailed 
with us, I am inclined to think that its advantages were in one respect 
noteworthy. Though we had only a few pretty books given us at 
Christmas, and envied our playmates because of the toys which they 
then received, still the close of our holiday week, and the dismal outlook 
of resumed studies, caught a kind of consolatory gilding not to be 
despised. Perhaps, in my own case, the desire to handle and enjoy my 
gifts clashed impedingly with the return to task-books. But I was 
always so poor and listless a student that I am afraid the difference 
either way would have been with me scarcely apparent. 

And so, during my early boyhood, it always happened that New 
Year’s Day was the one most important and festal in the entire cal- 
endar. Before the city grew so large that calling” died into desuetude, 
its brilliancy, gayety, and bustle were a kind of carnival, intensely 
vivacious and by no means unpicturesque. Along Fifth Avenue and 
its adjacent side streets carriages would almost swarm from mid-day 
till late in the afternoon. Gentlemen thought nothing of paying sixty 
or eighty visits in the space of nine or ten hours, and sometimes it was 
almost midnight before their full list was completed. Ladies, and 
especially the young belles in society, would make playful comparisons 
with one another, on January second, of the numbers of callers they 
had received. Sometimes the sharp strain of their haste gave a harle- 
quin attitude to certain droppers in.” Indeed, poppers” (both in 
and out) would have been a better name for them, I used to tell myself, 
while too young for any sharing of their nomadic gallantries. Toward 
the last, just before the whole idea collapsed utterly, it had taken, 
beyond doubt, hues of artificiality quite absurd. The pleasantest and 
most natural visitors, I was wont to remark, were middle-aged gentle- 
men who looked on the habitude both seriously and healthfully. Their 
lists did not stretch on to the crack of doom, and they were genuinely 
glad to cross each threshold on which their footsteps fell, and sure that 
those who waited beyond would be equally glad of their coming. 

I recollect that for years there was one caller whom we children 
always expected with ridiculous horror, and for whom we would wait, 
grouped in leaning postures beside the banisters up-stairs or ambus- 
caded in rear nooks of the further drawing-room. This was the most 
harmless and gentle of men, but one whom we chose to regard with 
loathing as a sort of shadowy human reminder that every day was not 
so joyous as the present. He was our family dentist, and we resented 


NEW YEAR'S DAYS IN OLD NEW YORK. 


137 


the thought of his presuming to come and pay us his respects now 
and here, which he always religiously did nevertheless. Our mother 
naturally disliked to hear our smothered giggles and cries of disgust, 
and would always summon us to appear and be smiled upon by good 

and kind old Dr. Q . He is dead now, peace be with him, and at 

this late date I sometimes wonder why he did not punish our New 
Yearns Day impudence and silliness by taking from his coat-tails a 
sanguinary forceps and flourishing it in our saucy little faces. 

We had a maiden aunt, the sister of our mother, who had always 
dwelt with us, and who had been taught from infancy to regard New 
Year Day,^^ as she called it, in a spirit of veneration. With mild 
tyranny which no one had ever ventured to dispute, she always insisted, 
weeks beforehand, on making, entirely unassisted, the huge plum-cake 
that would be placed on the dining-room table. She must perforce do 
everything herself, even to the stoning of the raisins. In the days of 
my youth stoned raisins had for me a peculiar fascination, and I am 
afraid that while watching the concoction of that wonderful plum-cake 
my Angers, if not so sly as a Spartan boy^s, were at least slyer than 
poor Aunt Mary always observed. When many mysterious ingredients 
had been made to combine in forming the cake, it was sent to the 
baker’s to be baked. When it returned, a heavy circular solid, richly 
iced and sometimes with a little white fairy standing on one toe in the 
midst of its rosettes and arabesques and flligrees, my aunt would guard 
it as the apple of her eye till the fateful day came round. Even after- 
ward her vigilance would but faintly relax, for it seemed to me that I 
could never slip into the dining-room and greedily cut a slice from its 
dark-red, crumbly interior, without hearing either her wailful plaint 
or staccato reprimand. 

My mother loved for years the old-fashioned well-fllled table, 
beside which she would stand, lifting a glass of wine to her lips, 
though rarely doing more than moisten them, while the ‘^compliments 
of the season” were beamingly and courteously wished her. It always 
seemed to me the most amazing thing that none of our guests had any 
appetite. There I would see cold jellied meats, and silver baskets 
overflowing with every toothsome device in the way of “fancy cakes,” 
and a great tureen of thrice-cherished pickled oysters, and a golden 
“ pound-cake,” iced only less decoratively than the sovereign plum- 
cake itself; and yet nobody seemed to care for more than a morsel of 
any of these goodies. My vigilant and critical eye gazed at them from 
the brain and body of what I fear was a sorry little gourmand, and for 
the life of me I couldn’t make out why, with such glorious gastro- 
nomic chances, no one less sparingly partook. For myself, in the 
magnificence of a digestion which as yet had no remorses to live down, 
I would think nothing of following two or three clandestine pickled 
oysters with two or three shamelessly purloined macaroons. And yet 
I must be conscientious about those peptics of urchinhood, lest these 
of middle age may revenge the too daring vaunt. For I do recall 
certain shadowy hours after bedtime when a draught of peppermint 
soothed pangs that perhaps were doubly poignant because born of two 
blended sins, disobedience and gluttony. 


138 


SOCIALIST NOVELS. 


When I grew old enough to make calls’^ myself, the first expe- 
rience of this performed social duty is highly painful to recollect. I 
accompanied my father on a round of visits which luckily did not 
require a spacious radius for its accomplishment. I wore, on that 
momentous occasion, a pair of new patent-leather shoes which gave me, 
at the start, a few ominous )>inches. Later, my torments became ex- 
cruciating, and yet I refused to tell my father, as we walked along 
together, that I suffered in the faintest degree. But ah, how I suffered ! 
I was not yet too old quite to have outgrown the allurements of plum- 
cake and pickled oysters, but I had no desire for either in the various 
drawing-rooms which we entered. What to me was pleasure of the 
palate then, while every joint in every toe was burning and throbbing? 
Surely the daring depredations of past New Year’s days were being 
punished now. Every stolen pickled oyster, every ravished macaroon, 
must have been wreaking upon me a separate pang of punishment. 

I fear that my first appearance amid the big world of New Year’s 
callers must be set down as the direst of failures. And yet, afterward, 
as a college youth, and even well beyond the time of graduation, I can 
look back upon the merriest rambles from street to street, and can 
recall the blooming faces of winsome maidens who welcomed me at 
happy stages along my polite pilgrimage. Some of these faces I yet 
meet, altered by the inflexible flux of many an added New Year’s day. 
Others, alas, have faded and vanished forever. The day itself, too, 
has become haunted, inevitably, by countless memories, part melancholy 
and part benign. For as I walk abroad, now, on the first day of the 
new year, and mark how deserted and apathetic seem the streets, and 
how the club-windows are crowded with bored and languid young men 
who might far better be amusing and paying homage to the sweet 
young ladies of their acquaintance, I can’t help ruminating that, after 
all, I have a great advantage over many mortals much more youthful 
than myself. My juvenile crimes in regard to the plum-cake and 
pickled oysters are now comfortably expiated, I trust, by a long re- 
pentant interval ; and henceforth, in grateful though pensive retrospect, 
I can gaze back through a vista of departed days, and see glimmering 
on and on into the mists of infancy certain marble-like mile-stones of 
recollection. These are the New Year’s Days of my past. Those 
of my present have grown hueless and commonplace. Christmas yet 
reigns, but her sister holiday is annulled and forgotten. And among 
the few mourners that survive her I confess myself one of the sincerest. 

Edgar Fawcett 


SOCIALIST NOVELS. 

B y socialist novels we mean fictions by socialists or their sympa- 
thizers, depicting the society of the future from their own 
stand-point. In them, as a matter of course, the present social order 
server only as a foil to throw into distinct view the glowing colors and 
enticing brilliancy of this ideal scheme. We have not here the picture 


SOCIALIST NOVELS. 


139 


of man conquering the lions as in the fable, but the lions painting 
their own picture in a leonine rage against all that is, to show what 
might be. The socialist novel thus becomes a work of historical im- 
agination, but historical in the future-perfect tense, as in Looking 
Backward/^ where a bold attempt is made to describe retrospectively 
the course of social transformation finally etfected in the year 2000 of 
our era. It is the case of Macaulay^s New Zealander reversed. In- 
stead of this son of the New World sitting on an arch of London 
Bridge and meditating on the fallen greatness of England, we have a 
New England man waking out of a century’s sleep in the American 
Athens and rubbing his eyes in wonder at the mighty social changes 
brought about during that lapse of time. 

This affords an excellent opportunity for interesting comparison 
and contrast between the old order and the new. The socialist fiction, 
like so many novels of the period, becomes thus a convenient vehicle 
for moralizing and philosophizing reflection. As the author of “Me- 
halah” in this and other of his stories })resents us with certain aspects 
of social pessimism, as George Eliot by her own confession taught 
through the medium of her novels a kind of scientific social melior- 
ism, and as the unknown or at least unnamed author of ‘^Fraternity” 
represents a kind of social optimism looking forward to the time 
when the “ fraternal socialist” shall have become fully developed, so the 
fictions we refer to in this paper are intended to reflect the “ scientific 
socialism” of the day. They serve the purpose of social romances like 
Sir Thomas More’s “ Utopia” in the remoter past, or such as Charles 
Kingsley’s “Yeast” and “Alton Locke,” Mrs. Gaskell’s “Mary Bar- 
ton,” Disraeli’s “Sibyl,” and similar works by George Sand and 
Eugene Sue in French, depicting the social yearnings and socialistic 
tendencies of the last generation. We might add Mrs. Lynn Linton’s 
“ Joshua Davidson” as of more recent date. 

Our samples shall be taken from different countries, for the pur- 
pose of showing to wdiat extent similarities and differences in social 
and political institutions give a local coloring to these fancy pictures of 
the society which is to be, as they appear on the dark background 
of actual social conditions. The most notable examples are Tcherni- 
chewsky’s “ What is to be done?” and Bellamy’s “Looking Back- 
ward,” both stories which have appeared in two young countries with 
a future before them, — Russia and America, — resembling one another 
in this particular, that their social institutions were introduced from 
Western Europe and planted on virgin soil, that in both these countries 
the gradations peculiar to the old societies are wanting, but with this 
difference, that in one of these countries political freedom exists in all 
its plenitude, while in the other the reverse is the case, — a most im- 
portant difference, affecting the growth of social institutions and the 
methods of giving effect to aspirations after social improvement. 
Thus, the title of the Russian novel, “What is to be done?” at once 
suggests the hopelessly confused state of the Russian mind brought 
face to face with this modern problem, almost a state of mind bor- 
dering on despair, while “ Looking Backward” expresses the hope- 
ful outlook into the future as the characteristic trait of the giant 


140 


SOCIALIST NOVELS. 


Republic, with its big strides of progress, taking a century by a single 
step. 

Tchernichewsky’s is the typical Nihilist novel. But Nihilism, a 
term invented by Tourgenieff, is only another name for ‘‘ le socialisme 
slave.’^ Of Nihilists the late Prince Dolgoroukoff once said there 
were two kinds, those who had nothing in their heads and those who 
had nothing in their pockets.’^ There is a third variety who have 
both, young men and young maidens of the best Russian families, 
wealthy, highly educated, and refined, whose hearts yearn with sincere 
affection for the people, who are willing to sacrifice all for the people, 
and who have not shrunk from undertaking work in factories and 
entering menial service to aid thus the people^s cause. 

The novel before us, more than any other Russian work, has helped 
in an eminent degree to create this type of Muscovite socialism. Its 
gifted author, the son of a simple parish priest, distinguished himself 
as a student of Kietf University and became an early contributor to 
the celebrated Review the Contemporary ^ conducted by the poet Nek- 
rassoff. He is also known as the translator of the voluminous 
Universal History of Weber and of Milks Principles of Political 
Economy. An Italian critic compares the novel to Swift’s Gulliver’s 
Travels in its trenchant sarcasm, — an opinion we cannot share; and 
in it we have the aspirations of modern Russia clearly expounded. 
The heroine is Vera Paulowna, a young lady of position converted 
to materialistic views of life and socialistic opinions by the tutor of 
the family, Lopoukotf, to whom of course she becomes attached and is 
married secretly. She begins her new career by opening a cutting-out 
shop on co-operative principles, taking Owen and Fourier for her 
teachers, and the business thrives. But her husband has a friend, Kir- 
sanoff, who falls in love with her, and she transfers her affections to the 
new-comer, which seems to be quite in accordance with the principles 
of these new men,” and the story turns upon the question, What is 
to be done ?” Apparently the new code of morality and honor, as under- 
stood by the husband, requires a heavy sacrifice on his part to insure 
the happiness of his wife and friend by renouncing his own rights. 
This cannot be done legally, so he feigns suicide, and the couple are 
united. Vera becomes, like most Nihilist young ladies frequenting 
Swiss universities, a medical student, and eminent in her mUier, Kir- 
sanoff, who practises in the same profession, saves the life of a certain 
Katerina Vassilievna. She, too, becomes a new convert and marries a 
kind of American Russian, Charles Beaumont, who turns out to be 
the ci-devant husband of Vera Lopoukoff, supposed to be dead ; hence- 
forth the two households form a fraternal association, and nothing can 
excel the harmony of their combined family life. This is the general 
movement of the story, which, it must be confessed, moves awkwardly 
at times, like most stories of the kind : the tendenznovelle, as Germans 
call it, is more didactic and doctrinal than descriptive and dramatic. 
Thus, instead of a real picture of the life of a medical man in Russia, 
we are given to understand how and why the medical profession is 
chosen to enable its votary to pursue his favorite scientific studies, and 
one of the most striking of the dramatis per sonse, Rakmetoff, is intro- 


SOCIALIST NOVELS. 


141 


duced mainly for the purpose of showing oflF the superior ethics of the 
socialist conspirator. He undergoes all manner of self-inflicted pains 
and torments to discipline himself by a natural asceticism’^ for his 
important mission. Why this rigor? 

We demand,” he explains, ^Hhat all men should be in a position 
to participate in life’s enjoyments; and we must prove by our example 
that we do not ask this for ourselves to satisfy personal desires, but for 
men in general ; that we say this on principle, not in passion ; from 
conviction, not from personal regards.” 

Without denying to the author the power of realistic representation 
of human passion and considerable force coming from sincere convic- 
tions in drawing the revolutionary ideal, extremely high though some- 
what vague; making allowance, too, for the cramping effects of censor- 
ship, — the romance was written in prison, like some of Dostoievsky’s, 
the author of the first socialistic novel in Russia, — it must be said that 
the radical doctrinaire intention throughout spoils its artistic effect. 
To expatiate on the relation of the sexes, or co-operative modes of 
industry, or the lofty claims of human solidarity, is well enough even 
in a novel, if it be judiciously interwoven with the general current of 
the story to give point and special interest to the dialogue. But here 
it is the prominent feature, and crowds out subjects of universal human 
interest, which ought to form the main portion of a work of fiction. 
In short, it is tedious reading. But, reflecting, as it does, the feelings 
of the modern Russian socialist, it is or was read by all interested in 
this movement : one of the few remaining copies of the book, which 
has become very scarce, was sold for a thousand rubles the other day. 

Special interest attaches to the life of the author, the Russian 
Lassalle,” as one of the martyrs of the cause, he having died after a 
prolonged exile, soon after his amnesty and return to his native town, 
Saratow, on the 29th of October, 1889. His work has been called the 
prologue of Russian liberation in a socialistic print ; certainly his novel 
has an historical bearing‘s as interpreting to us the first step made in 
the social and political regeneration of Modern Russia.” But for pic- 
turesque aspects of Russian socialism and a true picture of the life of 
the people we must look to such novels as Tourgenieff’s ‘^Fathers and 
Sons,” or Virgin Soil” and Smoke,” and to Gogol’s affecting pic- 
tures of misery and hopelessness among the masses, as in that remark- 
able story, ‘‘ Dead Souls,” in which the leading character is a dealer in 
dead serfs who are still counted as living and attached to this or that 
piece of land and mortgaged at the bank, a real traffic in human souls” 
of the most ghastly nature. No wonder that when its author read the 
opening chapters of this book to the poet Pushkin the latter cried out, 
in horror, ‘^God! how wretched life in Russia is !” 

Making allowance for minor racial differences, we may fitly compare 
the socialistic novel of Germany and England, and in so doing note 
the effect of different forms of government and social classification in 
two nations of the same stock and stem, yet one of them granting com- 
plete liberty of speech and organization, the other using repressive 
measures and curtailing the right of combination with a view to stem 
the progress of the socialist movement. The socialist popular move- 


142 


SOCIALIST NOVELS. 


ment in England is only a few years old/^ remarks the author of A 
More Excellent Way/^ and we find the socialist novel also in its in- 
fancy. Judging by the opinions expressed by socialists themselves, 
this tale expresses fully their views and aspirations. A short analysis 
will show its drift. We are first introduced into the family life of an 
Anglo-Indian, whose wife becomes an atheist as the first step towards 
becoming a convert to socialism. She is sent to Europe to recruit her 
health and strengthen her faith, but dies a confirmed socialistic atheist 
in Madeira, imparting her ideas to her son. The latter returns to Eng- 
land, receives his first impressions of the toiling masses on landing 
at the East India Docks, and is further impressed by the reality of 
social grievances on witnessing the procession of the unemployed passing 
the windows of his club. Attending a mass-meeting at Trafalgar 
Square finishes his complete conversion to socialism : 

‘‘Free thought, he said to himself, “appeals to the educated of 
all ranks, but on the stupid it can make no impression. The outcasts 
of society, the ignorant, the debased, the criminal, it passes them by. 
Socialism will save them all.'^ 

He develops into an agitator, much to the disgust of the friends 
of the young lady to whom meantime he has become engaged, and of 
his uncle’s family, who serve as a type of the irreclaimable social con- 
servatives. The heroine is neutral, has more heart than head, and not 
too much of either. She is the “ product of our society as it is ; she 
was gentle, charming, loving, but she was selfish. Tlie faults that in- 
dividualism produces lay deep down in her character, and made her 
quite unable for any altruistic endeavor.” The interest of the story 
turns on the difficulties of reconciling the hero’s socialistic aspirations 
with the GonvenauGes of the circle in which his friends and relations 
move. It affords the opportunity for introducing dialogue and de- 
scription, at times humorous, of skirmishes in the drawing-room be- 
tween the defenders of the old order and the new, the latter, as a matter 
of course, invariably having the best of the argument. All the while 
the love-making proceeds on the approved lines, as in ordinary Eng- 
lish novels. But it ends fatally, the young lady being unwilling to 
agree to the proposal of her lover that they should live on three hun- 
dred pounds a year, devoting the rest of their income, eight hundred 
pounds per annum, to the socialist propaganda. 

The bulk of this novel is taken up with arguments to show the ex- 
ceeding evil of that “ trinity of evil, rent, profit, and interest.” This 
exposes it to the same criticism which we had to apply to the Russian 
novel, though perhaps in a less degree, for we have here neither the 
venomous bitterness against the existing social order peculiar to the 
Russian story, nor the extravagant expectation entertained of social 
changes in the future, as in Mr. Bellamy’s story, but simply strictures 
and occasional good-humored hits at narrow prejudices, compromising 
respectabilities, and commonplace limitations in the social life of the 
upper middle class, at the worst, severe diatribes directed against the 
falsities and fatuous imbecilities of ordinary English life, ending with 
a damnatory sentence such as this : “ Yes, our civilization is a sham.” 

Comparing the stories written by others about socialism, such as 


SOCIALIST NOVELS. 


143 


Gissing^s Demos/^ or Grant Alienas Philistia/^ in which Karl Marx 
is delineated in sufficiently clear outlines, or Simes’s King Capital/^ 
or even Mallock’s anti-socialist novel, The Old Order Changeth,’^ we 
are again bound to state that the presentment of the movement as given 
by the onlooker is superior both' in interest and insight to that of those 
actually inside it, possibly because calm consideration of social facts 
and a judicial frame of mind in calculating social and anti-social 
forces cannot be expected from those who are engaged in the conflict, 
while a collected manner in dealing with the facts as the foundation of 
socialist fiction is essential to produce a perfect picture for the general 
reader. 

This power of dispassionate reflection we should a priori expect to 
find in the German socialist novel, self- recollected ness even where the 
fervor of the social passion is strongest being a characteristic of this 
nation of thinkers. Moreover, the consciousness of strength which 
socialists possess in a high degree in the country where as to numbers, 
intelligence, and perfect organization socialism has advanced all along 
the line, should lead us to expect that ease and elasticity of mind which 
enable the writer to attend to literary finish. In order to do this we 
want a tolerant gentleness in dealing with human infirmities and a 
tender regard for social prejudices, with the power of seeing the poetic 
side of even faulty social institutions whilst emphasizing the necessity 
of social reforms. And this we actually meet with in the socialist 
novel of Germany, though the German novel as such — barring some 
exceptions — is inferior to that of other countries. 

In ‘‘ Kranke Herzen,’^ — Sick Hearts, — by Otto Walster, the rec- 
ognized socialist novelist, we have two novelettes, with clever plots, ex- 
cellent drawings of natural scenery, and a sentimental inter})retation 
of nature, by one far from unacquainted witli the mysteries of natural 
science. There are also references to psychological phenomena and 
attempts at physiological treatment of human passion peculiar to the 
realistic novel of the modern type, especially in the first of these 
stories. 

We have here a real novel, not a fancy picture of the Land of 
Liberty drawn by F. Amersin, in a kind of modern Utopia; still 
less a wofully dry disquisition, as in Freiland,^^ by Hertzka, an econo- 
mist and new convert to socialist views, in an octavo volume of six 
hundred and seventy-seven pages, containing parliamentary debates on 
the social question, of heart-rending length and tedious flaccidity. The 
plot has little to do with socialism, and the socialistic allusions in Sick 
Hearts^’ are introduced unobtrusively and artistically interwoven with 
the story. What there is of adverse criticism on prevailing social con- 
ditions and methods of amendment is introduced with skill and taste, 
and the tone throughout is conciliatory, the fine lords and ladies of the 
story being represented in the most favorable light, probably with a 
view to show what the nobility ought to be, rather than what they are. 
True, in a former novel of the same author, Am Webstuhl der Zeit,^’ 
a social-political romance in three volumes, the tone is less placable and 
the antagonism against existing social conditions more pronounced. 
But this only seems to indicate (and we regard it as an augury for good) 


144 


SOCIALIST NOVELS. 


that as socialists become more consciously powerful they learn to culti- 
vate moderation and acquire greater catholicity of taste, both in the 
construction of the socialistic novel and in attention to detail, using it 
as a means of socialistic propaganda. 

In traversing the field of literature of this kind in diverse countries, 
we find that where socialism is weakest, as in Russia, it assumes the 
character of the literature of revolt/^ because galled into a tone of 
desperation by official persecution ; that where it still haunts the mind 
of the cultured few, as in the days when Emerson and Hawthorne 
made Brook Farm a social Utopia, there its hopefulness is very pro- 
nounced, extravagant expectations finding their encouragement in the 
efflorescence of natural progress and prosperity ; that where full liberty 
of speech and action is granted, as in England, the socialist literature 
in the form of the novel becomes most harmless ; that it appears in 
its best form, as to manner and matter, in the country where socialism 
has become most perfectly organized, and where this kind of prose 
poetry fitly expresses the social ideal in a tone of elevation and a free- 
dom from passionate excitement which augurs well for the future of 
literature should socialism be permitted to celebrate the triumphs it 
vaunts. From our survey it would appear that the fears entertained 
by some leading men of culture in Germany, in view of this threatened 
invasion of ^Hhe modern Huns and Vandals’^ in making havoc of all 
literature, are rather exaggerated and unreasonable. 

In France alone, where socialism, like society, has become most 
prosaic, no novels of this kind-— except perhaps ^‘Jacques Vingtras’^ by 
Jules Valles — have been produced of late years. In the ‘^Cri du 
Peuple,^^ a daily paper much read by socialists and at one time rendered 
popular by the novels of Valles (which, however, were not socialistic 
novels), M. Zola and his school furnish the feuilleton ; and realistic 
novels are largely advertised by the principal socialist bookseller of 
Paris as presumably the most acceptable pabulum of the socialist novel- 
readers of France. From which it would appear that as the centre of 
gravity of socialism, as an intellectual ideal, has moved from France to 
Germany, so the absence of the socialist novel in France marks the de- 
cadence of socialism itself, and indicates a descent from a higher and 
more spiritual to a lower and more material conception of its claims. 
It represents the most recent form of French socialism, with its lack- 
lustre practicalities, commonplace aims, and bold demands for increased 
opportunities of self-indulgence. 

Thus it would seem that the extinction of the socialist novel im- 
plies a degradation of socialism itself, and that its further development 
in artistic perfection will depend on the higher mental and moral eleva- 
tion of socialism regarded in the light of a social aspiration, a principle 
which it is well to bear in mind at a time when the novel occupies so 
important a place in literature. 

M. Kaufmann, 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH. 


145 


of tl^e 

The first impulse upon handling a book of reference is to 
Chambers’s Concise pages and test its quality. The recent wars in 

afford unusual illustrations, and when, for instance, 
one looks into this Concise Gazetteer , from the Lippin- 

cott press, for Port Arthur, he is furnished with the compact information which 
follows, and is satisfied : A Chinese naval station and arsenal on the southern 
extremity of the rocky peninsula which stretches southward between the Gulf 
of Pecheli and the Corean bay of the Yellow Sea.’’ The harbor is described, 
and we are told that there is a light-house and electric light ; while the popula- 
tion is 4000. 

So of every other point touched by the present war ; of the Mosquito Coast, 
Bluefields, and of any quarter of the globe which suddenly rises into notice 
from disaster, political change, or human associations. The volume is a well- 
condensed and handy octavo of over seven hundred pages, and will be an in- 
dispensable adjunct to every reference library, every office, and every intelligent 
household that endeavors to know the history and to keep abreast of the news 
of the world. 

Not in the annals of English literature is there a case par- 
allel to this of the profound critic and man of taste Hazlitt 
and the “lodging-house decoy” Sarah Walker. Even 
Shelley and Burns, culpable as their conduct was, ex- 
pended the intensified passion of the poet upon objects 
which fitly inspired it. But Hazlitt, a man of extreme 
sensibility, who dealt, as he boasted, in abstract truths; 
who wrote volumes of elevated essays which have become 
a treasure of English literature, and which now take the highest place among 
the achievements of his day in prose, — Hazlitt, the thinker who counsels us 
to live to ourselves, wastes his intellect and heart upon a creature beneath him 
in every sense, who was not even pretty, for “ her eyes were the worst and had 
the worst expression he had ever seen of hypocrisy and design, and had a shiny 
watery look, yet she was well made and had handsome arms.” It is thus that 
he raves about her through the entire book, now consumed with unconquerable 
love, now in the throes of a bitter hatred which vents itself in execrations. 

While those who like such a resurrection of household skeletons will here 
find ample matter to their taste, it is probable that with readers of Hazlitt who 
had forgotten or never fully known of the circumstances his reputation will 
severely and justly suffer. He is shown in an entirely new light, for not until 
the present “ privately printed” volume of three hundred and fifty or more 
pages appeared had there ever been a collation of the original manuscript of 
the Liber Amoris with the edition of 1823, and here both versions are given 
intact, together with some hitherto unpublished letters of Hazlitt and of his 
wife bearing upon the deplorable episode. 

We are also treated to a reprint of Sarah Hazlitt’s Journal of my Trip to 
Scotland, written when she travelled there to aid in securing the divorce, and 
to a fac simile reprint of the original title-page of the Liber Amoris, 

VoL. LV.— 10 


Liber Amoris ; or, 
The New Pygma- 
lion. By William 
Hazlitt. With Ad- 
ditional Matter from 
Original Manu- 
scripts. Privately 
Printed. 


146 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH. 


The present edition of the Lippincotts is the definitive one, as it is incon- 
ceivable that anything further could be said than is furnished in Mr. Le Gal- 
lien ne’s Introduction and the preface entitled Hazlitt from Another Point of 
View. The frontispiece is a faithful fac-simile of Bewick^s excellent portrait of 
Hazlitt. 


The Source and 
Mode of Solar 
Energy throughout 
the Universe. By 
I. W. Heysinger, 
M.A., M.D. 


A singularly stimulating book is this treatise of over three 
hundred pages, which expounds a novel and often profound 
theory of the heavenly bodies, and especially of solar 
energy. These vast subjects have long been at once the 
hope and the despair of astronomers ; and the greatest of 
scientific minds, Laplace, Helmholtz, Siemens, and scores 
of lesser men, have endeavored, without success, to explain what has hitherto 
transcended the human understanding. 

Dr. Heysinger has brought to the subject a wide and discriminating 
knowledge, which, with the aid of his own surprising speculations, has enabled 
him to discover a possible clue to the hidden processes of the sun and stars, 
and even to the obscure passages of the Bible which deal with kindred facts 
known to the Hebrews. His theory is an entirely original one, and possesses 
many claims to credence. It will be examined by scholars with attention, and 
will appeal to laymen as involving much information, very useful and elevating, 
with a plausible explanation of what has hitherto remained beyond their ken. 

The book is entitled The Source and Mode of Solar Energy throughout the 
Universe, and is published by the J. B. Lippincott Company in a handsome 
style befitting its contents. Briefly stated in the author’s words, its purpose is 
“to establish the perpetual maintenance and continual regulation and uni- 
formity of the solar emission of light and heat for all time to come, and the 
great and harmonious correlation of all the bodies of space into each other.” 
Dr. Heysinger is a fluent writer, and commands an extensive knowledge of 
books upon his special topic. From these he draws supporting evidence with 
much skill and force. His style is often eloquent, and his book, though upon a 
subject over-profound for the general reader, will be relished even by those 
unacquainted with astronomy. 


A desideratum in this day of social forms and social am- 
Heraidryyin^Amer- bitions is a good book on heraldry. We have the wealth, 
Zieher. Culture, and the character which entitle us to rank 

with the best of Norman blood, and in many cases these 
qualities are the outgrowth of lineal descent from that fine old stock. We 
should, therefore, know more about the quarterings to which we are entitled by 
hereditary right, and Mr. Eugene Zieber has done a commendable work in 
preparing his volume. Heraldry in America, just from the Lippincott press, 
which makes our title clear and afibrds every requisite for a thorough knowledge 
of the subject. 

The text is entirely new, and the book, in mechanical excellence, is worthy 
of its subject. It is printed with especial care on heavy super-calendered 
paper, and holds between its covers more than nine hundred and fifty illustra- 
tions, without which a book on heraldry would be deprived of its chiefest claim 
to attention. Besides these, there are colored lithograph plates, steel plates, 
and others which give distinction to the volume. The insignia of Colonial and 
Revolutionary societies, whose revival is now so much the vogue, are allotted 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH. 


147 


ample space, and book-plates, a current passion, are by no means neglected. 
A glossary of French and English terms is also included, thus equipping the 
student or amateur in all completeness. 

The poets who have hailed from the West have not hitherto 
In the Garden, and won a large renown for those sentiments which belong to 
other Poems. By pQg^ry pure and simple. The singers of repute have mainly 
Veeder. produced poems of dialect and homely feeling. It is, there- 

fore, pleasant to welcome a new candidate for the laurels 
whose ideals are of the tender, elevated, and fanciful order, and who knows and 
loves nature for its own sake. 

Mrs. E. E. Veeder has sent forth through the Lippincotts a book of modest 
size, entitled In The Garden^ the verses of which have the delicate charm which 
characterizes true poetry. Some of her purely out-door work, as in the title- 
poem, is genuinely sweet, of which the following bears witness : 

0 Nature, turn from blossoming. 

From joyous energies of spring. 

And see the famine of my life. 

By grace divine. 

Am I not thine ? 

But Mrs. Veeder possesses also a narrative gift, and can condense into a 
single stanza the fervor of a strong human passion. Her tale. Entranced, will 
testify to this, and her Austin^s Painting of Christ will show the deep devo- 
tional quality in her nature. 

As a whole, the book is full of a great promise and does full credit to the 
pen which wrote Her Brother Donnard. 

Clever as a comedy by Mr. Daly^s players is this delightful 
By*\^ E^Norr^s^^ story by W. E. Norris, — the latest work of an always 

notable tale-teller. The Despotic Lady is a tale of social 
diplomacy practised upon Lady Maunsell, a grim and underbred autocrat who 
patronizes religion and has a pretty, demure daughter who secretly holds more 
worldly views. A sentimental poet, Eric Langdale, suffers contumely and 
vituperation from Lady Maunsell because of his love for Bertha, and, to his 
great joy, he finds this love returned. The noble lady desires to marry Bertha 
to Eric’s friend, Peter Garnett, who will one day be Lord Hexham, and so does 
Lady Hexham ; but General Langdale appears on the scene and upsets all cal- 
culations. He wilfully affronts Lady Maunsell, and piques her to desire an 
alliance with his family. Then, discovering that she has had an early history 
likely to be worth concealing, he practises a sharp manoeuvre which leads up to 
the denouement. An evening’s reading lies between these attractive covers 
such as can rarely be found among ephemeral books, and the Messrs. Lippin- 
cott have acted advisedly in adding this to their list of novels. 


Miss Kowlands has won instantaneous favor with her 
The Spell of Ursula. American readers, and her first book, My Pretty Jane, has 
Rowlands. multiplied its editions to meet the demand which its charm- 

ing narrative created. Upon the heels of this success 
comes forth another novel, The Spell of Ursula, which will confirm the high 
opinion formed, and justly formed, of the first book. In this new tale there is 


148 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH 


a mystic element which adds a touch of romance to the high-bred life of the 
English men and women who pace through the pages. Ursula Grant is no antic 
witch with flying locks and palsied hands, but a young and lovely girl born in 
the Orient and early transplanted to England. Deeply in love with her is 
Eupert Featherstone, who has been her playmate and slave from boyhood up. 
The foils to these are Lord Chestermere and Catherine Forbes, betrothed in 
infancy but now truly in love. How the spell of Ursula works its sorceries to 
the undoing of all these hopes, and how the charm follows out its destiny, is 
left for the interested reader to discover. But entertainment, the introduction 
to types of English aristocratic life, and, better still, the acquaintance with a 
writer who has an indefinable charm and distinction, are all to be met with 
in The Spell of Ursula^ which the Lippincotts have just added to their Series of 
Select Novels. 

At this holy-tide of the year a book like Barahhas, by 
Barabbas. A Dream Marie CorelH, possesses a peculiar fitness. It is the story 

Tragedy! By Marie Crucifixion done by a reverent and skilful hand into 

Corelli. a tale which holds the reader in a trance of attention 

through all the three hundred pages. The characters and 
country of the Bible story are rendered tellingly real by Miss Corelli’s methods, 
which are inspired by an artistic purpose and signalized by great narrative 
gifts. This remarkable book, published by the Lippincotts, is now selling in its 
fifteenth thousand, and has taken a permanent place among historical romances. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


149 



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150 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Old Marriage Notices. — Married — In England, Mr. Matthew Rousby, 
aged 21, to Mrs. Ann Taylor, aged 89. The lady’s grandson was at this unequal 
union, and was five years older than his grandfather. (Salem Mercury, October 
21, 1788.) 

The 16th inst., Mr. William Checkley, son of Rev. Mr. Samuel Checkley 
of Boston, was married to Miss Polly Cranston, a young lady of genteel Ac- 
quirements and of a most Amiable Disposition. (Old Boston Paper, December 
19, 1766.) 

Thursday last, was married, at Newport, R.I., John Coffin Jones, Esq., of 
Boston, merchant, to the truly amiable and accomplished Miss Abigail Grant, 
daughter of the late Alexander Grant, Esq., a lady of real merit, and highly 
qualified to render the connubial state supremely happy. (Old Boston Paper, 
May 22, 1786.) 

In Williamsburg, N.C., Major Smith, of Prince Edwards, Va., to Miss 
Charlotte B. Brodie. This match, consummated only a few days since, was 
agreed upon 31 years ago at Camden, S.C., when he was captured at the battle 
of Camden, and being separated by the war, &c., each had supposed the other 
dead until a few months since, when they accidentally met, and neither plead any 
statute oif limitation in bar of the old bargain. (Salem Gazette, July 19, 1811.) 

Married — In this town, on Sunday evening last, by Rev. Dr. Haven, Mark 
Simes, Esq., Deputy Postmaster, &c., to the Elegantly Pretty and Amiably 
Delicate Miss Mary Ann Blount, youngest daughter of the late Captain John 
Blount of Little Harbour. 

Genius of Hymen, power of fondest love, 

In showers of bliss descend from worlds above 
On Beauty^s rose and Virtue’s manlier form. 

And shield, ah, shield them both from Time’s tempestuous storm ! 

(Oracle of the Day, Portsmouth, N.H., November 24, 1798.) 

At Concord, Ebenezer Woodward, A.B., Citizen Bachelor of Hanover, N.H., 
to the Amiable Miss Robinson. At Longmeadow, Mr. John M. Dunham, Citi- 
zen Bachelor and Printer, as aforesaid, to the Amiable Miss Emily Burt. The 
promptness and decision which the said citizens have shown 

In all the fond intrigues of love 

are highly worthy of imitation, and the success that has so richly crowned their 
courage and enterprise must be an invincible inducement to the fading phalanx 
of our remaining bachelors to make a vigorous attack on some fortress of female 
beauty with a determined resolution 

Ne’er to quit the glorious strife 

till, drest in all her charms, some blooming fair Herself shall yield, the prize 
of conquering love. (Boston, 1795 .) — Current Literature. 

Just Exactly. — He was perhaps the most phlegmatic and cautious servant 
in the world. 

“ If I should send you to the cigar-store for a box of cigars,” his master 
said to him one day, ‘‘ how long will it take you to return ?” 

Well,” was the reply, after a long pause, ‘‘as near as I can judge, about 
the same time that it will take me to go there .” — New York Herald. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


151 



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152 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Holding up a Stage. — “ A stage with six passengers in it held up by one 
man, and the paper says they were a pack of cowards,” said the man in the 
seat ahead as he turned himself round. 

Well, let me tell you, there's another side to it. I've been right on deck 
on several occasions when a hold-up didn't work worth a cent. The papers 
never seem to get hold of the other side, though.” 

“Let's go and have a cigar and talk about road agents. If you have 
been held up, give us the particulars.” 

“ Yes, I've been held up,” he said, as we got seated in the smoker. “ My 
first experience was about twelve miles from Tuscarora, Nevada. There were 
seven men in the coach, and every one of us had shooting-irons and sand 
enough to use them. We were stopped just where we didn't expect it, and 
that was the trouble. 

“ Before we knew what was up, a fellow had us covered with two revolvers. 
It wasn't his guns that made us take water, so much as his general demeanor. 
You had only to glance at him to realize that he was a devil and held human 
life as cheap as dirt. He could not keep all of us covered, but we had no show 
at him. If one of us had fired and missed, he'd have downed the whole crowd 
before he stopped shooting. I believe that any one of us if alone in the stage 
would have pulled down on him, but, as it was, each one feared to draw his 
vengeance on the rest. He took watches, rings, and money to the value of five 
thousand dollars from our crowd. He had us stuck up for half an hour, and 
there wasn't a second in that time he didn't have his eye on every man and 
hold himself ready for a shot. That chap stopped over a dozen stages before he 
got his dose.” 

“ And you spoke of several failures.” 

“ Yes, I have witnessed several. Of all the road agents in the West for 
the last twenty years not more than five or six had any business to take to that 
line. The others were chumps and failures. Why, I've been from Cheyenne 
north when we'd pass three or four dead bodies in a day, — corpses of chumps 
who'd tried to make a hold-up and got left. One day, about ten miles south of 
the Platte, when there were five of us in the stage, a fellow jumped out and 
yelled his yell. Every man in the stage knew he was a galoot by his antics 
and the trembling of his voice, and we weren't a bit surprised when the driver 
out with his gun and dropped him without checking the gait of his horses.” — 
Detroit Free Press. 

Man vs. Rat. — The town of Wolverhampton enjoys the distinction of 
having invented a new sport, which, as long as the novelty lasts, is likely to be 
popular among the colliers in “ the black country.” At a tavern in the out- 
skirts of that town a man was matched against a rat tied to a wooden peg in the 
middle of a table by a long line, which gave it plenty of play. The rat tried 
to escape, but was forced to fight, and the man, whose hands were tied behind 
his back, attacked it with his teeth. According to the local chroniclers, the 
engagement was a savage one, and the rat inflicted severe bites upon his human 
antagonist, but the vermin was ultimately killed, fairly and squarely. The 
Telegraph years ago obtained notoriety by a vivid circumstantial account of a 
fight between a man and a dog in this same black country, but the story was 
denounced as an invention, and it was never properly confirmed. But this 
man-rat contest is apparently all right . — London Correspondent. 


$ (J.QLiul-t-ujai 


CURRENT NOTES. 


153 



154 


CURRENT NOTES. 


A Thrifty People. — Kichard Tangye, the great engineer, in his auto- 
biography gives some curious examples of the economy of the Cornish miners. 
Compared with these thrifty folk, Scotch peasants and New England farmers 
are extravagant. His grandfather was a miner, and when once asked what his 
daily work was he replied, — 

“ Ten hours at the engine and eight at digging. The rest of the day I 
have to waste.” 

Tangye states that he once saw this same old man fall into a fury of rage 
because a boy whom he had hired threw away a match after lighting a candle 
with it. 

“ D^ye waste my property, ye loon ? Then ye will never be worth saxpence 
of yer own !” he shrieked. 

A careful old woman lamented a stolen pie for more than forty years. The 
tears would come to her eyes whenever she talked about the lost dainty. — London 
Million, 

A Man of Tongues. — Dr. G. W. Leitner, of Woking, editor of The Ori- 
ental Review^ is surely one of the most polyglot” of men. Of him it might be 
said, as of Goldsmith’s parson, — 

And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew 
That one small head could carry all he knew. 

Here is a list which we have compiled from Languages of the languages or 
dialects in or concerning which the doctor has written works : 

Arabic, Basque, Breton, Burishki or Khajuna, Dard languages, English, 
French, Gaelic, German, Greek, Hungarian, Hebrew, Irish, Icelandic, Italian, 
Kaffiri, Kashmiri, Latin, Magadhi, Pali, Portuguese, Persian, Komaic, Spanish, 
Sindhi, Sharada, Turkish, Urdu, Wakhi, Welsh, Zingari. 

In addition to these Dr. Leitner has a knowledge of Sanskrit, Dutch, Rus- 
sian, Hindi, Punjabi, Pushtu, and various dialects of Turki and Tibetan. Is 
there a language or dialect on the face of the earth that the doctor doesn’t 
know ? — Westminster Gazette. 

The Discovery of Coffee. — Towards the middle of the fifteenth cen- 
tury a poor Arab was travelling in Abyssinia. Finding himself weak and weary, 
he stopped near a grove. Being in want of fuel to cook his rice, he cut down a 
tree, which happened to be covered with dried berries. His meal being cooked 
and eaten, the traveller discovered that these half-burned berries were fragrant. 
He collected a number, and on crushing them with a stone he found the aroma 
increased to a great extent. 

While wondering at this, he accidentally let the substance fall into a can 
which contained his scanty supply of water. Lo, what a miracle ! The almost 
putrid liquid was partially purified. He raised it to his lips. It was fresh and 
agreeable, and after a short rest the traveller so far recovered his strength and 
energy as to be able to resume his journey. 

The lucky Arab gathered as many berries as he could, and, having arrived 
at Aden in Arabia, he informed the mufti of his discovery. That worthy was 
an inveterate opium-smoker, who had been suffering for years from the influence 
of the poisonous drug. He tried an infusion of the roasted berries, and was so 
delighted at the recovery of his former vigor that in gratitude to the tree he 
called it camuha^ which in Arabic signifies force.” — Brooklyn Eagle, 


CURRENT NOTES. 


155 


A Page for Housekeepers 


Fruit 

Pinwheels 


The following is Miss Maria Farloa^s receipt for Fruit Pinwheels, 
which, she writes, are ‘‘nice for luncheon or tea 

‘‘ Mix together and rub through a sieve one pint of flour, one table- 
spoonful of sugar, half a teaspoonful of salt and two teaspoonfuls of 
Cleveland's baking powder. Into this mixture rub two generous table- 
spoonfuls of butter. Wet with a scant half pint of milk. Sprinkle the board with flour, and, putting 
the dough upon it, roll down to a large square about half an inch thick. Spread a heaping table- 
spoonful of soft butler on this and then spread with a cupful of sugar and a cupful of currants. Grate 
a little nutmeg over all, and roll up like a jelly roll — or pin wheel style. Cut in slices about three- 
quarters of an inch thick and lay in well buttered pans. Do not let the slices touch each other. Bake 
in a very quick oven for about twelve minutes.” — {^Copyright by Cleveland Baking Powder Co,) 


{By Miss Cornelia C, Bedford,) One cup of flour, two table- 
spoonfuls Parmesan cheese (or four tablespoon fuls ordinary 
, grated cheese) one tablespoonful of butter, one quarter 

mITI^GTS teaspoonful Cleveland’s baking powder, pinch of salt and a dash of 

cayenne, or one quarter of a teaspoonful paprika. 

Rub the butter into the flour, add the salt, cayenne and cheese, mix with cold water to a soft 
dough, roll out one half inch thick, cut in one-half inch strips, lay in a greased pan, and bake in a 
moderate oven until golden brown. 


{Miss Parloa,) For one dozen muffins use one pint of 
flour, a generous half pint of milk, two teaspoonfuls of Cleveland’s 
baking powder, half a teaspoonful of salt, two tablespoonfuls of 
sugar, three tablespoonfuls of butter and two eggs. Mix the 
dry ingredients together and rub through a sieve. Melt the butter. Beat the eggs till light and 
add the milk to them. Add this mixture to the dry ingredients ; then stir in the melted butter- 
Beat the batter vigorously for a few seconds and then put in buttered muffin pans and bake for about 
twenty minutes in a quick oven.” — {Copyright by Cleveland Baking Powder Co.) 


For 

Lunch Parties 


Buckwheat Cakes 


“ az iz ” 


Buckwheat Cakes 


Two teacupfuls buckwheat flour, one teacupful wheat 
flour, three teaspoonfuls Cleveland’s Superior baking 
powder, one teaspoonful salt. Mix all together, and 
add sufficient sweet milk or water to make a soft batter. 
Bake on griddle at once, and serve them piping hot. 


For ^ 
Breakfast 


Receipts for 41 different kinds 
of breakfast breads and cakes, 
muffins, waffles, griddle cakes, 
scones, sally lunn, rolls, gems, 
etc. are given in our cook book, a copy of which will 
be mailed free on receipt of stamp and address. 

Cleveland Baking Powder Co., 

81 Fulton Street, New York. 


For light and wholesome cookery Cleveland’s baking 
powder has no equal. 




156 


CURRENT NOTES. 


An old lady of Massachusetts was famed in her native township for health 
and thrift. To an acquaintance who was once congratulating her upon the 
former, she said, — 

“ We be pretty well for old folks, Josiah and me. Josiah hasn’t had an 
ailin’ time for fifty years, ’cept last winter. And I ’ain’t never suffered but one 
day in my life, and that was when I took some of the medicine Josiah had left 
over, so’s how it shouldn’t be wasted.” 

M. Paul Bourget,” says The Pall Mall^ is one of the youngest men 
who have ever been welcomed under the dome of the French Institute, but he 
is a couple of years older than was Pierre Loti when he attained the same honor. 
Though not yet forty-two, he looks somewhat older, his nervous temperament 
having told upon his health and given his features a pinched and weary aspect. 
His profile is clearly cut and keen, and he wears only a moustache, which is 
curled up almost in military fashion. Unless animated by conversation, his blue 
eyes give an impression of fatigue, not to say dulness. There is nothing im- 
posing in his stature or bearing. One would not, in short, recognize him at the 
first glance as a man of genius. Spoilt and blast by the great ladies of fashion- 
able society, he is apt to give himself airs, not of the bumptious and offensive 
sort familiar enough in many literary lions, but tinged with a querulous and 
almost peevish conceit. However, he has got married lately to a very charm- 
ing woman. Mile. Minnie David, and domestic life is said to have improved 
him. He occupies part of a gloomy and quiet house in the Rue Monsieur.” 

A Very Delicate Scale. — Wonderful stories have been told concerning 
the extreme delicacy of the scales used by the mints at Philadelphia and Lon- 
don. That at the first-named place is said to tell the exact weight of a hair. 
The London wonder shows a difierence in the weight of a card after a name has 
been written on it. The most accurate scale in the world is now being discussed 
in England. It is so finely balanced that it shows the weight of a candle or 
taper to be less after the flame has been extinguished . — Detroit Free Press. 

Round Robins Out of Date. — “In the old days, when dissatisfaction 
arose among the working-classes,” said an old-time manufacturer, “the leaders 
of movements sought to hide themselves rather than be heralded as being at 
the head. I remember when a petition came in to me from my men it was im- 
possible to tell who was the most active or master man upon the list. They 
adopted the idea which originated at sea when the crew wished to protest 
against anything the captain did. In those early days, if any one had been 
caught stirring up dissatisfaction among the men of a vessel, no time would 
have been lost in stringing him up to the yard-arm. So the sailors, to make it 
impossible for the ofllicer to know who was the first man to start the list, invented 
the ‘ round robin.’ The grievance was written in a circle, around which the 
names were signed, going out like the spokes of a wheel. In such a document 
one name was just as prominent as another, so the captain would have to forego 
any punishment. Well, that’s the way my men did. Their petitions were 
always ‘ round robins.’ I never knew who were the leaders and who were the 
followers. But now ‘ round robins’ are out of date, and committees have taken 
their place. There is now no attempt to conceal the names of leaders. In 
fact, there is scarcely a manufacturing establishment in the country that has 
not its recognized labor leader .” — Pittsburg Dispatch. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


157 


For Babies and Children 

All children need the elements of food found in Cod- 
liver Oil and Hypophosphites of Lime and Soda. Many 
are able to derive these properties from their ordinary food. 
But many do not; consequently they do not thrive. Their 
teeth are defective. Their bones are not properly formed. 
Their blood is depleted, cheeks lack color, and vitality is 
at a low ebb. Their brain takes all their nourishment and 
nothing is left for the ground-work of their future health. 

Scott’s Emulsion 


of Cod-liver Oil and Hypophosphites, is an easy and con- 
centrated form of the food properties that are absolutely 
necessary to all growing children. It overcomes wasting 
tendencies, enriches and purifies the blood, makes healthy 
flesh, and brings rosy cheeks and bright eyes to all the 
babies and children who take it. It is nourishment to the 
bones as well as to the vital organs and muscular system. 



Trade-Mark. 


**Christian Intelligencer.’’ 

Messes. Scott & Bowne, New-Yokk, Nov. 6, 1894. 

Gentlemen— A sense of gratitude for the benefit received from the 
use of Scott’s Emulsion of Cod-liver Oil. in the case of my young son, prompts 
me to write you that others may profit by my experience. For some months 
the little fellow, who had never been a rugged child, seemed to steadily 
waste away. He lost all desire for play, became weak and nervous, had 
little appetite, much trouble in obtaining sleep, and was very susceptible 
to the slightest changes in the weather. I was advised he was growing too 
fast and a tonic prescribed, but he continued to lose in weight. One day a 
friend said: “What that child needs is more nowris/imen^, and the thing to 
give him is Scott’s Emulsion of Cod-liver Oil. It would make a new boy of 
him in a month.” He spoke so earnestly I decided to follow his advice, and 
the effect was almost magical. An improved appetite was at once noted, 
the roses gradually returned to his cheeks, he experienced no trouble from 
sleeplessness, a spirit of fun and desire for play developed, he gained 
rapidly in weight, and in about a month verified my friend’s confident pre- 
diction, for he was indeed a new boy. To-day he is apparently as strong 
and healthy as a child could be, and the wonderful change was wrought by 
Scott’s Emulsion of Cod-liver Oil and Hypophosphites. 

Kespectfully yours. R. F. Bogaedus. 


SCOTT & BOWNE, New-York City. Ail Druggists. 50c. and $1. 


158 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Powdered Carbons. — Dropping into a drug-store, I saw a man throw 
down a lot of half-burnt carbons of arc lights, get his money, and walk out. 

In reply to a question about the transaction, the head of the concern said, 
“ Some people say the inhalation of carbon is good for consumption. I don’t 
know whether it is or not. I have heard that there is no consumption in 
factories where there is a strong odor of carbon. I do not know who started 
the notion. But people come in and tell us about what they hear, and we get 
what they ask about to accommodate them. We pestleize these carbon points 
and sell the powder in whatever quantity is desired, and the purchasers inhale 
the powder in the belief that it is beneficial. If I was to tell them that it 
wasn’t, they would get it somewhere else, and I would lose all their trade.” — 
Chicago Herald. 

Parsers. — The entire costume of the Parsee symbolizes the mysteries of 
religion. The gauze shirt, bound with the sacred cord of Kusti, must be woven 
with seventy-two threads to represent the chapters of the “ Izashni,” and the 
twelve knots of the heavy tassel signify the twelve months of the year and 
represent the perpetual obligation of sacred duties. The embroidery of the 
sloping black hats carries out a further doctrinal signification, and in the white 
head-bands of the women warp and woof form an elaborate cryptograph of 
Zoroastrian theology. Even the mode of wearing the silken saris of pink, 
primrose, azure, and green is prescribed by ritual law, though the linen head- 
band gets pushed farther back, and the floating folds of the brilliant veil 
occasionally combine coquetry with orthodoxy. A solitary instance recurs to 
memory of a fiizzy fringe framed by head-band and sari and contrasting 
strangely with the Asiatic face and beautiful historic dress of the wearer ; but 
the Parsee beauty rarely ventures on such a decided protest against the tyranny 
of custom and creed. The possession of unlimited wealth enables the Parsees 
of Bombay to exercise important control over the fortunes of the city, and rows 
of splendid mansions in the suburbs of Parel show the status of the colony 
which identifies itself with Western progress while retaining its original character 
and ancient faith . — All the Year Round. 

Dislikes of Authors. — It is a curious thing how those who write famous 
books or create well-known norm deplume develop an aversion to them as time 
goes on. Edward Bellamy, for example, absolutely shudders when one talks of 
'' Looking Backward” in his presence. There is no surer way to offend Bret 
Harte than to refer to him as the author of '' The Heathen Chinee.” Will 
Carleton cannot imagine why people should associate “ Over the Hills to the 
Poor-House” so prominently with his name. Mrs. Burnett dislikes too much 
mention of Little Lord Fauntleroy” in her presence, but courts any praise of 
her story of “ Vagabondia,” of which so few, in comparison with those who 
know her famous juvenile story, have any knowledge. Charles Heber Clark 
has a strong aversion to any association of his once famous nom de plume of 
“Max Adeler” with his name. Charles G. Leland’s ire is aroused when one 
speaks of “ Hans Breitmann” as his best piece of work. E. P. Eoe never could 
understand why people bought “ The Opening of a Chestnut Burr” in preference 
to his later and what he deemed his better books. Eugene Field feels that he has 
written fifty poems that are superior to “Little Boy Blue.” John Hay’s feel- 
ings are hurt when one introduces him at a dinner, as did a chairman at a 
literary supper recently, as the author of “ Little Breeches .” — London Tit-Bits. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


159 




Cottolene is clean, delicate, whole- 
some, appetizing and economical. 
It is so good that it is taking the 
place of all other shortenings. Be 
sure and get the genuine 

tolene 




160 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Didn’t Mind Converts. — There is one delightful anecdote touching the 
King of Ava’s reply to the request of an American missionary for leave to try 
to make converts among the king’s subjects. The king told Dr. Price that he 
granted his request, and that he might preach his religion, but whenever his 
subjects were converted by it he should cut oflf their heads and send them at 
once into the paradise of which the doctor had told them. — Athenceum. 

Besant Lectures Tolstoi. — Count Tolstoi lets any one who pleases pub- 
lish his novels. He will not take any money for them. Very good indeed. 
And why not? He gives them to any publisher who pleases to produce them. 
Why not? If I were in a position to refuse the rents, or the proceeds, or the 
profits, of my own property, I should, however, choose the people who should 
enjoy them. Supposing Count Tolstoi to give away two thousand pounds a 
year by this high-minded conduct, this large income goes to enrich private per- 
sons who have done nothing whatever to earn the money. Now, a good deal 
might be done with two thousand pounds a year. It would erect almshouses 
for four or five persons. In ten years forty or fifty old people could be main- 
tained forever, or a scholarship could be founded each year which might enable a 
poor lad to climb the tree and become lord chancellor or Archbishop of Canter- 
bury. There are many other ways in which two thousand pounds a year could 
be spent, all useful to the world. To throw it out into the open field and to 
call on the world to scramble for it does not seem to me a wise or a useful pur- 
pose for that money.— Walter Besant, in London Queen. 

Incubated Babies. — The incubator in the babies’ ward of the Postgradu- 
ate Hospital is a great improvement on that at the Maternity Hospital, although 
it lacks the sentimental surroundings of the one in charge of the young woman 
doctors. In this improved affair the patient will not have to be once lifted 
from his snug nest from the time he is placed inside until he becomes strong 
enough to be removed with safety. 

The incubator is set upon bicycle wheels, so that it may be moved about 
whenever desired. The fresh air is heated by passing between two strata of 
hot water, rises up both at the head and the foot of the mattress, and is kept in 
motion by an aluminum fan run by clock-work, thus preventing any possibility 
of the little patient’s suffering for want of air. There is also a tube for the 
supply of oxygen, liberal quantities of which are good for babies who are hang- 
ing on to life by the merest thread, and it is believed this improvement will 
save a great many lives that would have been lost in the old incubator. 

By means of a clever mechanical device, the weight of the baby is always 
registered, so that the physician may discover the slightest variation at any 
time. Infants are subject to tubercular diseases, which develop before the 
doctor knows what is the matter. Of course the incubator must be opened in 
order to feed the baby its artificial food, but by means of a deft sliding of the 
covers the entrance of any cold air from the outside is prevented. The tem- 
perature of the inside of the incubator is kept as near 98° F. as possible . — New 
York World. 

King Humbert is a royal sportsman of unusual skill with the rifle. He 
went out from his hunting-lodge at Valle dell’ Oreo one day recently and killed 
eighteen wild goats and thirty-two chamois. When the ‘‘bag” was examined 
it was found that every one of the victims of the royal rifle had been shot in 
the head . — New York World. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


161 


Two and two make four in approved arithmetic and in legitimate 
business. The value of a dollar in life insurance is upon the average 
never had for less than a dollar. Smith and Jones die early, and their 
families are benefited many times beyond their dollars contributed to the 
general fund, and, of course, at the cost of the living, who supply the 
deficit in equitable proportion to their chance of dying and the sum 
insured to each. 

There is no escape from the law of average, but there are plans and 
methods of insurance better adapted to meet individual needs than others ; 
better in the time and amount of payments to the company ; better in the 
guarantees given the assured ; better in the freedom from unnecessary 
restrictions; better in the combination of investment and protection. 

All forms of life insurance are sold by this company at exact cost — 
no profit, for no one intervenes between the company and its members ; 
they are one. 

Address, for full information, 

PENN MUTUAL LIFE, 

921-3-5 Chestnut Street, 
Philadelphia, Pa. 



A National Prize of 
16,600 Francs. 



AN INVIGORATING TONIC 

CCNTAININQ 

Peruvian Bark ^ Pure Catalan Wine 

(The same prepared with Iron, also with Phosphates), 

FOR THE CURE OF 

MALARIA, 

INDIGESTION, 

FEVER and AGUE, 

POORNESS OF THE BLOOD, 

NEURALGIA, 

LOSS OF APPETITE, 

WASTING DISEASES, 

and GENERAL DEBILITY. 

For sale by all Druggists. 

22 Rue Drouot, E. FOUGERA & CO., Agents, 

Paris. 26-28 N. William Street, New York. 


VoL. LY.— 11 



162 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Louis Napoleon at Play. — At the Tuileries, Madame received me in a 
salon hung with tapestry. Through a half-open door I heard a child’s voice ; 
it was that of the Prince Imperial, who was playing in the next room. Soon we 
heard the noise of a saw and a hammer, and, as I listened, Mme. Bizot led me 
quietly to the door of that room. Look,” she said, speaking low and opening 
the door a little wider. Then I saw the Emperor seated on the carpet and 
making toys for his son. — Mme. Octave Feuillet: Some Years of My Life. 

Painted Arab Girls. — Shief is a very picturesque spot, perched on a 
rock, with towers and turrets constructed of sun-dried brick ; only here, as else- 
where in these valleys, the houses are so exactly the same color as the rock 
behind them that they lose their effect. The rich have evidently recognized 
this difficulty, and whitewash their houses, but in the poorer villages there is 
no whitewash, and consequently nothing to make them stand out from their 
surroundings. Arab girls, before they enter the harem and take the veil, are a 
curious sight to behold. Their bodies and faces are dyed a bright yellow with 
turmeric ; on this ground they paint black lines, with antimony, over their eyes ; 
the fashionable color for the nose is red ; green spots adorn the cheek, and the 
general aspect is grotesque beyond description. 

My wife tells me that the belles in the Sultan’s harem are painted in this 
fashion, and that they also paint gloves on their hands and shoes on their 
feet, and, thus bedizened, hope to secure the affections of their lords. At Shief, 
the men would not allow my wife to approach or hold any intercourse with the 
Arab women, using opprobrious epithets when she tried to make friendly over- 
tures, with the quaint result that whenever Mrs. Bent advanced toward a group 
of gazing females they fled precipitately, like a flock of sheep before a collie 
dog. These women wear their dresses high in front, showing their yellow legs 
above the knee, and long behind ; they are of deep-blue cotton, decorated with 
fine embroidery and patches of yellow and red sewn on in pattern. 

It is the universal female dress in Hadramut, and looks as if the fashion had 
not changed since the days when Hazarmaveth the patriarch settled in this valley 
and gave it his name. (Gen. x. 26.) The tall, tapering straw hat worn by these 
women when in the fields contributes with the mask to make the Hadrami 
females as externally repulsive as the most jealous of husbands’ could desire. — 
Nineteenth Century. 

In his recollections of Disraeli Lord Dufferin used to relate a characteristic 
story of the novelist. Meeting Disraeli as he was strolling up hatless from the 
House of Commons to speak to some colleague in the House of Lords, Lord 
Dufferin inquired of him if he had read a certain novel, and received the answer. 
Oh, I have no time for novel-reading now. Moreover, when I want to read a 
novel I write it .” — New York World. 

She had. — Hearing a faint rustle in the darkened hall-way below, the 
elder sister, supposing the young man had gone, leaned over the balustrade and 
called out, — 

“ Well, Bessie, have you landed him ?” 

There was a deep, sepulchral silence for some moments. 

It was broken by the hesitating, constrained voice of the young man: 

“She has .” — Chicago Tribune. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


163 



Be on Guard 

against imitations of PearLine. When they 
are not dangerous, they are worthless. 
They are usually both. Pearline 
does what nothing else can. 
It saves labor in washing, 
and insures safety to what is 
washed. It is cheap, thorough 
and reliable. Nothing else will “do as 
well ; ” it is just as well to have nothing else. 


Beware 


Peddlers and some unscrupulous grocers will tell you 
“this is as good as” or “ the same as Pearline.” IT’S 
FALSE — Pearline is never peddled, and if your grocer 
sends you something in place of Pearline, be hon^st-send it back. 264 JAMES PYLE, N. Y, 


PROVIDENT LIFE AND TRUST CO. 
of Philadelphia. 

Safe Investments. Low Rate of Mortality. Low Expense Rate. 
Unsurpassed in everything which makes Life Insurance reliable and 
moderate in cost. 

Has never in its entire history contested a death loss. 


A Valuable Addition to the culinary list is Borden’s Peerless Brand 
Evaporated Cream, an absolutely pure, unsweetened condensed milk so care- 
fully prepared that it keeps indefinitely and is always available for every recipe 
calling for milk or cream. 


164 


CURRENT NOTES. 


A Gun, Chow-Chow, and Pickles.— The truth is, that if the Japanese 
do not sweep tlie Chinese from the sea, then study, skill, devotion, and experi- 
ence go for nothing, and there is no need for us to train our naval officers at all. 
One thing only could save the Chinese on the sea,— the enlistment by large 
promises of money of European naval officers, in whose hands complete and 
unfettered control should be placed. The Chinese seamen are not wanting in 
courage, but, naturally enough, they have no confidence whatever in their 
leaders, and they would probably fight well enough to give their undoubtedly 
fine ships a chance if they were well commanded. Even in this case, however, 
the fear would be that the ships have been allowed to deteriorate to such an 
extent that nothing like their best could be got out of them. 

I remember once being shown by a Chinese naval officer over one of their 
biggest iron-dads, which was on a cruise at the time, and therefore presumably 
in first-rate condition. I noticed a gun carefully protected in a canvas cover. 
As we passed it, I asked casually what it was. The officer explained with pride 
that it was a new quick-firing gun, and called a quartermaster to remove the 
covering. The order was obeyed with evident reluctance, and when the gun 
was at length exposed it proved to be used by one of the watches as a receptacle 
for their “ chow,” and was filled with chopsticks and littered with rice and 
pickles. Of course I promptly looked the other way, but it required no knowl- 
edge of Chinese to interpret the remarks of the officer to the quartermaster. 
No doubt the whole watch went through the process of “eating bamboo” the 
moment I was off the ship ; but the Chinese are incorrigible. It would be dis- 
couraging to a European engineer who should be appointed to a Chinese ship 
to find that if there were any subordinate boiler small enough for the purpose 
it had probably been used for stewing dog . — Contemporary Review. 

The Duke of Wellington and Waterloo.— Not long before his death, 
in 1867, Sir James South told me the following: 

“ Lord Ashley, after visiting at Strathfieldsaye, dined with me at the Ob- 
servatory here j he alluded to conversations with the duke i one was, the Duke 
of Wellington said the opposed generals were clever men, Soult especially. 

But how was it, sir, you always had the better of them V asked Lord 
Ashley. ‘ Why, I blundered as well as they, but my men got me out of scrapes, 
theirs left them in,’ was the reply.”— Ate and Queries. 

The Grand Sinyor and the Orgon, 1660.— All being quiett and no 
noyes at all, the presente began to salute the Grand Sinyor; for when I lefte it 
I did alow a quarter of an houre for his cominge thether. Firste the clocke 
sirouke 22 ; than The chime of 16 bels went of, and played a songe of 4 partes. 
That beinge done, tow personagis which stood up to corners of the seconde 
storie, houldinge tow silver trumpetes in there handes, did lifte them to theire 
heades, and sounded a tantarra. 

Then the muzicke went of, and the orgon played a song of 5 partes twyse 
over. In the tope of the orgon, being 16 foute hie, did stande a holly bushe 
full of blacke birds, and thrushis, which at the end of the musick did singe and 
shake theire wynges. Divers other motions thare was which the Grand Sinyor 
wondered at. Than the Grand Sinyor asked the Coppagawe [gatekeeper] yf 
it would ever doo the lyke againe. He answered that it would doo the lyke 
againe at the next houre . — Early Voyages in the Levant. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


165 


Dr. W. H. DePuy, A.M., D. 
D., LLD., Asst. Editor Chris- 
tian Advocate., writes ; 

“New York, Dec. 20, 1893. 

“Myself and family have 
derived so much benefit from 
the Electropoise and I have 
become so thoroughly con- 
vinced of its merits as a prac- 
tical curative agent, that I 
feel warranted in commend- 
ing it to the public.” 



Often Cures 
Chronic 
Cases 

pronounced 

Incurable 


Prof. Totten, of Yale Col- 
lege, in his book “ Our Race,” 
writes ; 

“But thanks be to God, 
there is a remedy for such 
as be sick — one single, sim- 
ple remedy — an instrument 
called the Electropoise. We 
do not personally know the 
parties who control this in- 
strument, but we do know of 
its value.” 



THE 



'HE whole system is revitalized by the oxygen taken into the 
blood as a result of polar attraction produced on the sur- 


faces by its application ; this general distribution of X 
vitality through the skin avoids the necessity of 
imposing the burden of cure on any one organ, NOT A 

and explains why it is often possible for the 

Electropoise to effect cures where other BATTERY 

# OR 

NEW YORK. 


remedies fail. Write for descriptive book. 

ELECTROLIBRflTlOH C0."“ 


Belt 


An Asthma Cure at Last. — European physicians and medical journals 
report a positive cure for Asthma, in the Kola plant found on the Congo River, 
West Africa. The Kola Importing Co., 1164 Broadway, New York, are sending 
free trial cases of the Kola Compound by mail to all sufferers from Asthma 
who send name and address on a postal card. A trial costs you nothing. 



Crystal Pepsin Tablets are nature’s only cure for dyspepsia and indigestion. 
They prevent dulness after eating, and induce a refreshed feeling of renewed 
energy. Delivered by mail to any post-office in the United States on receipt 
of fifty cents in stamps. Samples mailed free. Address the Carl L. Jensen 
Company, 400 N. Third Street, Philadelphia, Pa. For sale at all druggists’. 




166 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Icarus. 

What a spreading of fluttering wings ! 

What chirpings, what pride in their child ! 

As, forgetting terrestrial things. 

The parents for gladness grow wild. 

’Tis a lesson in flight they essay. 

As, led by the teachings of love. 

The feeble wings flutter away. 

The weak limbs endeavor to move. 

Now before and above him they dart. 

With short flights and encouraging calls. 

Now the poor pupil harmlessly falls. 

Engrossed in his partly learnt art. 

And the neighbors and gossips, who sit 
On the twigs of the bushes around. 

Join the clamorous chorus and flit 

Up and down ^twixt their seats and the ground. 

Long lasted the lesson. At length 
Those feeble wings tempted the air. 

Full a yard, in their newly-found strength I 
You had thought they had Icarus there I 

Such chirpings, such shouts of applause I 
Such a chorus of innocent glee ! 

Unconscious that under the tree 

Crept a monster with pitiless jaws. 

Lewis Morris : Songs without Notes. 

Poems in Prose — The Artist. — One evening there came into his soul 
the desire to fashion an image of ‘‘ the pleasure that abideth for a moment.” 
And he went forth into the world to look for bronze. For he could only think 
of bronze. 

But all the bronze of the whole world had disappeared, nor anywhere in 
the whole world was there any bronze to be found, save only the bronze of the 
image of the sorrow that endureth forever. 

Now this image he had himself and with his own hands fashioned, and had 
set it on the tomb of the one thing he had loved in life. On the tomb of the 
dead thing he had most loved had he set this image of his own fashioning, 
that it might serve as a sign of the love of man that dieth not, and a symbol 
of the sorrow of man that endureth forever. And in the whole world there 
was no other bronze save the bronze of this image. 

And he took the image he had fashioned, and set it in a great furnace, and 
gave it to the fire. 

And out of the bronze of the image of the sorrow that endureth forever he 
fashioned an image of the pleasure that abideth for a moment. — Oscar Wilde, 
in Fortnightly Review. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


167 




TEN REASONS FOR USING 

DOBBINS ELECTRIC SOAP. 

THE REASON WHY it is best from a sanitary point of view, is because of its absolute 

it is unscented, is because nothing is used in its manufacture that 
must be hidden or disguised. 

“ it is cheapest to use, is because it is harder and dryer than ordinary 
soap, and does not waste away ; also because it is not filled with 
rosin and clay as make-weights. 

“ no boiling of clothes is needed, is because there is no adulteration 
in it — being absolutely pure, it can do its own work. 

“ it leaves clothes washed with it whiter and sweeter than any other 
soap, is because it contains no adulteration to yellow them. 

“ it washes flannels without shrinking, bringing them out soft, white, 
and fleecy, is because it is free from rosin, which hardens, yellows, 
and mats together all woollen fibres, making them harsh and coarse. 

three bars of it will make a gallon of elegant white soft-soap if 
simply shaved up and thoroughly dissolved by boiling in a gallon 
of water, is that it contains pure and costly ingredients found in no 
other soap. 

‘‘ it won’t injure the finest lace or the most delicate fabric, is that all 
these ingredients are harmless. 


44 44 


44 44 


m YOOB GBOCEB FOB IT. 


we paid ^50,000 for the formula twenty* five years ago, is that we 
knew there was no other soap like it. 

so many millions of women use it, is that they have found it to be the 
best and most economical, and absolutely unchanging in quality, 

DOBBINS SOAP MFC. CO. 

PHILADELPHIA, PA. 


Send your full name and address to Dobbins Soap Manufacturing Company, Phila- 
delphia, Pennsylvania, by return mail, and get, /ree of all costy a coupon worth several 
dollars, if used by you to its full advantage. Don’t delay. This is worthy attention. 
Mention Lippincott' s Magazine. 


Consumption Cured. — An old physician, retired from practice, having 
had placed in his hands by an East India missionary the formula of a simple 
vegetable remedy for the speedy and permanent cure of Consumption, Bron- 
chitis, Catarrh, Asthma, and all Throat and Lung Affections, also a positive and 
radical cure for Nervous Debility and all Nervous Complaints, after having 
tested its wonderful curative powers in thousands of cases, has felt it his duty 
to make it known to his suffering fellows. Actuated by this motive and a desire 
to relieve human suffering, I will send free of charge, to all who desire it, this 
recipe, in German, French, or English, with full directions for preparing and 
using. Sent by mail by addressing with stamp, naming this magazine, W. A. 
Noyes, 820 Powers’ Block, Eochester, N.Y. 


The Influence of Color on Diseases. — Experiments have been tried 
with a view to ascertain if color has an effect on certain forms of disease. In 
making this test a number of small-pox patients were placed in a room to which 
only red light was admitted. The patients were for the most part those suffer- 
ing from unusually severe attacks, about half of them being unvaccinated chil- 
dren. In spite of the violent form of the malady, they all made speedy and 
«afe recoveries, with very little fever and but few scars. There has been but 
little enthusiasm about colored glass since the famous blue glass excitement of 
some years ago. But that certainly did benefit certain cases, and at intervals 
ever since there have been revivals of interest in the subject . — New York 
Ledger. 


168 


CURRENT NOTES. 


A Cow’s Queer Appetite. — One of the pedigree Holstein cows owned by 
Professor Arnold of Lincoln died, and when an examination was made a glove- 
buttoner was found embedded in one lung, while the stomach and intestines 
contained no less than forty-six articles, including a gold ring, another glove- 
buttoner, pieces of wire and crockery, nails, and an inch staple. 

“ With a Rumbelow.” — Of the many quaint and picturesque survivals of 
old English customs, surely one of the oddest and most delightfully suggestive 
is the engrossment and presentation on the 9th day of November every year, at 
Southampton, of gravely-worded certificates vouching for the fact that no car- 
racks of Genoa or galleys of Venice have arrived at the port. Poetry is not to 
be looked for in official documents, but if this voucher be read between the lines, 
is it not veritably a three-centuried sea-song of the freshest and breeziest, full of 
the brilliant color and strange circumstance of old-world shipping ? 


For it’s yo-heave-ho, 

With a rumbelow. 

And the merchants pace the shore, 

But the Genoese wagons and galleys of Venice 
Surge in from the sea no more, no more, — 

Sweep in from the sea no more. 

And whiffs of spice 
From the Paradise 

Where the nutmeg and cinnamon grow 
No more float down 
To the dull sea-town 
To the music of yo-heave-ho ! 

For it’s yo-heave-ho. 

With a rumbelow, 

And the merchants pace the shore. 

But the Genoese wagons, etc., etc. 

Good Words. 

A Lawyer’s Satire. — Lord Chancellor Eldon pronounced the word 
“ lien” as if written lion. Sir Arthur Pigott, a distinguished chancery lawyer, 
maintained that ^‘lien” was to be pronounced like lean, and one day each 
made a stand in court for his favorite pronunciation, whereupon Jekyll, a witty 
lawyer, perpetrated this rhyming pun, which alludes to the parsimonious 
arrangements of the chancellor’s kitchen : 

Sir Arthur, Sir Arthur, why, what do you mean 
By saying the chancellor’s lion is lean ? 

D’ye think that his kitchen’s so bad as all that, 

That nothing within it can ever get fat ? 

San Francisco Argonaut. 

Explained. — An old Scotch lady who had no relish for modern church 
mu.sic was expressing her dislike to the singing of an anthem in her own church 
one day, when a neighbor said, “ Why, that is a very old anthem I David sang 
that anthem to Saul.” To this the old lady replied, ‘‘ Weel, weel I I noo for 
the first time understan’ why Saul threw his javelin at David when the lad sang 
for him.” — Presbyterian. 


The February Number 

OF ' 

LIPPINCOTT’S 

MAGAZINE, 

RBADY JANUARY 20, 

WILL CONTAIN A COMPLETE NOVEL 
ENTITLED 

The Chapel of Ease, 

BY 

HARRIET R. DAVIS, 

Author of “Gilbert Elgar’s Son,’’ etc. 


Also, the Usual Variety of Stories, Essays, 

Poems, etc. 


For List of Complete Novels contained in Former Numbers, see Next Page. 


a 



THE COMPLETE NOVELS 

WHICH HAVE ALREADY APPEARED IN 

LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE. 


AND WHICH ARE ALWAYS OBTAINABLE, ARE: 


No 

3-25. The Waifs of Fighting Rocks. 

Charles Mcllvuine 

324. Mrs. Hallam’s Companion. 

Sirs. Hlary J. Holmes 

323. Dora’s Defiance Lady Lindsay 

322. A Question of Courage . . . Francis Lynde 

321. Captain Molly Mary A. Denison 

320. Sweetheart Manette . . . Maurice Thompson 

319. Captain Close Captain Charles King 

318. The Wonder- Witch .... M. G. McClelland 
317. A Professional Beauty. Elizabeth Phipps Train 
316. The Plying Halcyon . . Eichard Henry Savage 

316. A Desert Claim Mary E. Stickney 

314. The Picture of Las Cruces . . Christian Reid 

313. The Colonel Harry Willard French 

312. Sergeant Croesus .... Captain Charles King 
311. An Unsatisfactory Lover .... The Duchess 
310. The Hepburn Line . . . Mrs. Mary J. Holmes 
309. A Bachelor’s Bridal. . . . H. Lovett Cameron 
308. In the Midst of Alarms .... Robert Barr I 
307. The Troublesome Lady . Patience Stapleton | 
306. The Translation of a Savage. Gilbert Parker 

305. Mrs. Romney Rosa Nouchette Carey 

304. Columbus in Love . . George Alfred Townsend 
303. Waring’s Peril . . . Capt. Charles King, U.S.A. i 

302. The First Flight Julien Gordon 

301. A Pacific Encounter . . . Mary E. Stickney 

300. Pearce Amer son’s Will. ! 

Richard Malcolm Johnston 

299. More than Xin Marion Harland I 

298. The Kiss of Gold Kate Jordan 

297. The Doomswoman Gertrude Atherton i 

296. The Martlet Seal. . . . Jeannette H. Walworth ' 
295. White Heron . M. G. McClelland ] 

294. John Gray (A Kentucky Tale of the Olden Time), i 

James Lane Allen 

293. The Golden Fleece .... Julian Hawthorne ' 
292. But Men Must Work . Rosa Nouchette Carey 
291. A Soldier’s Secret . Capt. Charles King, U.S.A. | 
290. Roy the Royalist William Westall 

289. The Passing of Major Kilgore. i 

Young E. Allison 

288. A Pair Blockade-Breaker . . T. C. De Leon : 

287. The Duke and the Commoner. ! 

Mrs. Poultney Bigelow , 

286. Lady Patty The Duchess ■ 

285. Carlotta’s Intended . . Ruth McEnery Stuart ' 
284. A Daughter’s Heart . Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron i 
28,3. A Rose of a Hundred Leaves. Amelia E.Barr ; 
282. Gold of Pleasure . . . George Parsons Lathrop 

281. Vampires Julien Gordon 

280. Maiden’s Choosing . . . Mrs. Ellen Olney Kirk 
279. The Sound of a Voice . . Frederick S. Cozzens 

278. A Wave of Life Clyde Fitch 1 

277. The Light that Failed .. . Rudyard Kipling j 


No. 

27G. An Army Portia . . Capt. Charles King, U.S.A. 
275. A Laggard in Love . Jeanie Gwynne Bettany 
274. A Marriage at Sea W. Clark Russell 

273. The Mark of the Beast. 

Katharine Pearson Woods 

272. What Gold Cannot Buy . . Mrs. Alexander 
271. The Picture of Dorian Gray . . Oscar Wilde 
270. Circumstantial Evidence . Mary E. Stickne> 
269. A Sappho of Green Springs . . . Bret Harte 

268. A Cast for Fortune Christian Reid 

267. Two Soldiers .... Capt. Charles King, U.S.A. 
266. The Sign of the Pour .... A Conan Doyle 
265. Millicent and Rosalind . . Julian Hawthorne 

264. All He Knew John Habberton 

263. A Belated Revenge. Dr. Robt. Montgomery Bird 

262. Creole and Puritan T. C. De Leon 

261. Solarion Edgar Fawcett 

260. An Invention of the Enemy. W. H. Babcock 
259. Ten Minutes to Twelve . M. G. McClelland 
258. A Dream of Conquest . . General Lloyd Brice 
257. A Chain of Errors .... Mrs. E. W. Latimer 

256. The Witness of the Sun . . . Am61ie Rives 

255. Bella-Demonia Selina Dolaro 

254. A Transaction in Hearts . . . . Edgar Siiltus 

253. Hale-W^eston M. Elliot Seawell 

252. Dunraven Ranch . . Capt. Charles King, U.S.A. 

251. Earthlings Grace King 

250. Queen of Spades, and Autobiography. E. P. Roe 
249. Herod and Mariamne. 

A Tragedy Amelie Rives 

248. Mammon Maude Howe 

247. The Yellow Snake Wm. Henry Bishop 

246. Beautiful Mrs. Thorndyke. 

Mrs. Poultney Bigelow 

245. The Old Adam H. H. Boyesen 

244. The Quick or tha Dead P . . . AmMie Rives 
243. Honored in the Breach . . . Julia Magruder 
242. The Spell of Home. 

After the German of E. Werner. Mrs. A. L. Wister 
241. Check and Counter-Check. 

Brander Matthews and George H. Jessop 
240. Prom the Ranks . . Capt. Charles King, U.S.A. 
239. The Terra-Cotta Bust . . Virginia W. Johnson 
238. Apple Seed and Brier Thorn. Louise Stockton 
237. The Red Mountain Mines. Lew Vanderpoole 

236. A Land of Love Sidney Luska 

235. At Anchor Julia Magruder 

234. The Whistling Buoy .... Charles Barnard 
233. The Deserter .... Capt. Charles King, U.S.A. 

232. Douglas Duane Edgar FawceU 

231. Kenyon’s Wife Lucy C. Lillie 

230. A Self-Made Man M. G. McClelland 

229. Sinfire Jiilian Hawthorne 

228. Miss Defarge .... Frances Hodgson Burnett 
227. Brueton’s Bayou John Habberton 


SINGLE NUMBERS, 25 CENTS. S3.00 PER YEAR. 




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Colonial Days and Dames. 

By Anne Hollingsworth Wharton, author of “Through Colonial 
Doorways.” Illustrated. i2mo. Cloth extra, $1.25. 


Edition de Luxe Ihiiited to the number of subscribers. 
Buckram, $3.50. Ready in January, 1895. 


8vo. 


There was need for some one well equipped with knowledge and enthusiasm 
to adventure among the yellow records of Colonial Days and bring back to us 
the life which was so picturesque, so gallant, and yet so leisurely and simple. 
Miss Wharton in Colonial Days and Dames” has given us a picture of the oldest 
social life we can claim as our own, of the stately men and beautiful women from 
whom we are proud to have sprung, and of the times which made them what they 
were. Colonial Days and Dames” is a needed supplement and a graceful com- 
panion picture to “Through Colonial Doorways,” in which Miss Wharton last 
year took a keen glance backward at the town-life of early Philadelphia, New 
York, and Boston. The eager demand for “Through Colonial Doorways” makes 
an easy pathway to success for “Colonial Days and Dames,” which volume, 
travelling along the same pathway, deals with new aspects, new people, and new 
episodes of early American society. 

Besides the regular edition there is an Edition de Luxe^ limited to the num- 
ber of subscribers, which contains a treasury of portraits in photogravure, and 
other valuable illustrations drawn from exclusive sources which have been placed 
at the disposal of the author. 

The Colonial Library. 

CoTONiAT Days and Dames. Through Coloniae Doorways. 

Two volumes in a box. i2mo. Cloth, $2.50. 


The History of the French Revolution. 

By Louis Adolphe Thiers, ex-Prime Minister of France. Translated, 
with notes and illustrations from the most authentic sources, by 
Frederick Shoberl. New Edition, printed from new type, with 
fifty illustrations on steel engraved by William Greatbach. 
Complete in five volumes. 8vo. Per volume, cloth, $3.00 ; half 
morocco, $5.00. 

Some years have elapsed since M. Thiers’s “History of the French Revo- 
lution” was first introduced to readers in an English translation. The value of 
such a work can only be tested by time and popularity. The subject, although 
of the deepest interest, had been so often touched upon by previous writers that 
novelty, either in fact or inference, was scarcely to be expected. In France the 
book was received with enthusiasm, and adopted without hesitation as the stand- 
ard authority. This might have been looked for from the known abilities of 
the author and his political eminence. It was felt at once that he was able to 
grapple with the question and examine its minute details with searching fidelity. 

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His history is a narrative of facts, seldom interrupted by episodes or parenthetical 
reflections. He has no tendency to enter into long investigations of causes which 
he leaves the reader to discover for himself. In his delineations of character he 
seizes obvious points and prominent features. Thiers is frank and always intelli- 
gible. Hence the secret of his superior attraction ; and on this ground, inde- 
pendent of all others, his work has established itself as a classic and increases in 
estimation on repeated perusal. The reputation of M. Thiers’s history has in- 
creased gradually. Received at first with caution, — perhaps with distrust, — it 
has made its way by intrinsic weight, and obtains with each succeeding year 
a wider popularity. A new edition has therefore become necessary, which we 
now present in a more convenient form. It has been objected that Thiers is a 
partial historian, and writes with a natural bias in favor of his own country. 
This tendency, when it occurs, is compensated for in this edition by a series of 
illustrative notes from the most important authorities on the subject, so that 
the reader is thereby enabled to balance conflicting opinions, and regulate his own 
judgment on a comparison of evidence. The present edition is uniform with the 
new edition of Thiers’s “History of the Consulate and the Empire of France.” 


History of the Consulate and the Empire of 

France. 


By L. A. Thiers, ex-Prime Minister of France. Translated from the 
French, with the sanction of the author, by D. Forbes Camp- 
bell. An entirely new edition, printed from new type and illus- 
trated with thirty-six steel plates printed from the French origi- 
• nals. Complete in twelve octavo volumes. Cloth, $36.00 ; half 
morocco, gilt top, $60.00. 



This great work is one of the foremost historical productions of the age. 
The first volume appeared in 1845, and the work was completed in i860. The 
only good edition of the English translation has long been out of print, and the 
present publishers, in connection with an English house, have brought out a 
limited edition to meet the demand of the libraries and book-buyer. The last 
volume of this sumptuous edition has just been issued. Subscriptions will be 
received for complete sets only by all booksellers and the publishers. 

The Marquis de La Fayette in the American 

Revolution. 

With some Account of the Attitude of France toward the 
War of Independence. By Charlemagne Tower, Jr., LL.D. 
Royal 8vo. Two volumes in a box. Cloth, gilt top, uncut edges, 
$8.00. 


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In treating of La Fayette’s services in America, Mr. Tower has used many 
unpublished letters in private collections and in the “Papers of the Old Con- 
gress.” In writing of the campaign of 1781, which he has naturally made one 
of the most important portions of his book, as in that campaign La Fayette acted 

3 







entirely on liis own judgment, exercising as he did an independent command, 
Mr. Tower has enjoyed exceptional advantages, as he was so fortunate as to obtain 
letters showing almost daily the movements of La Fayette until joined by Wash- 
ington previous to the siege of Yorktown, making a most valuable contribution 
to the military history of the Revolution. The book will be embellished with a 
number of maps, some of which were drawn especially for it and others copied 
from the Sparks collection in Cornell University that were prepared for La Fayette. 
It will also contain portraits of Madame de La Fayette and the Marquis, the latter 
in his Continental uniform, after the painting made for Washington by Charles 
Willson Peale, now in the possession of General G. W. C. Lee, of Lexington, Va. 


Henry of Navarre and the Religious Wars. 

By Edward T. Blair. Royal octavo. Three hundred pages, with 
sixty illustrations in text and four full-page photogravures. 
Paper, $3.50; cloth, $4.00; half calf, $6.00. 

There have been greater and nobler men, but few characters and periods more 
interesting than that of Henry of Navarre. This has lately been proved by the 
successful revival of the historical romance of this period. Readers of Stanley 
Weyman and Dumas will welcome Mr. Blair’s history because it gives a short but 
very full and unprejudiced account of the personal character and career of “le 
roi galant.” Mr. Blair has aimed to present a faithful picture of characters and 
events which have been often misrepresented by partisan writers ; and he has 
gone about his chosen task with the skill of an historian and a biographer who 
thoroughly knows the sources where his true materials lie, the country in which 
the history has unfolded itself, the descendants of the actors in the historic drama 
which he records, and the bearing of the events on contemporary and later his- 
tory. This has furnished the substance for a biographical history which will 
make a strong appeal to many classes of readers, — the young, always interested 
in stirring adventure, the religious, alert for the newest versions of many vexed 
questions, and the general reader, who will find the book interesting purely from 
its subject and its treatment. The volume has been gotten up in the most 
attractive manner, and this and its anecdotal character render it particularly 
suitable for the holidays. The illustrations, taken from paintings and rare 
prints, are unique, and will be particularly relished by the lover of prints. 
As a book for extra illustration, this, with the ample basis thus afforded, would 
prove of rare interest. 

Napoleon at Home. 

The Daily Life of the Emperor at the Tuileries. By Frederick 
Masson. With twelve full-page illustrations by F. de 
Myrbach. Two volumes. 8vo. Cloth, $7.50. 

These two handsome volumes form an addition to Napoleonic literature 
which perfectly accords with the fashion of the present day and the taste which 
delights in domestic revelations concerning great personalities .” — London Daily 
Telegraph. 

4 




Napoleon and the Fair Sex. 

By Frederick Masson. With ten full-page illustrations in the best 
style of the French Art. One volume. 8vo. Cloth, $5.00. 

A large proportion of the chapters of the above work appeared in the Figaro^ 
the idea of writing them being suggested to the author by the following ques- 
tions : With what women is Napoleon known to have had temporary relations as 
a young man^ as Consul^ and finally as Emperor? Had he an absorbing passion 
for any one womafi? and^ if so ^ for whom f'' In his task the author has found 
many powerful allies, and has distilled the essence of documents that have been 
accumulating for years. The result is a narrative of the facts as they appear from 
these various evidences. 


Memoirs of Count Lavalette, M 

Adjutant and Private Secretary to Napoleon, and Postmaster-General iOl 

under the Empire. With portraits. A limited edition of one 
hundred and fifty copies for America. i2mo. Cloth, $3.00. fjl 

A limited edition of twenty-five large-paper copies for America, A 

J6.00. || 

Few persons knew Napoleon as did Lavalette ; and historians gathering A 

materials may place full confidence in his recital. No other facts are mentioned M 

than those in which he was an eye-witness, and the author’s character will prove ^ 

a sufficient voucher for the truth. XK 


Chin=Chin ; 

OR, The Chinaman at Home. By Tcheng-Ki-Tong, Late of the 
Imperial Chinese Legation. Translated by R. H. 

Sherard. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 

The author in his preface says, The object of this book is to give a picture 
of our private amusements and of our public files. It belongs, accordingly, to 
anthropological literature, describing as it does a series of ethnological phenomena, 
games, ceremonies, and fites^ which, however much they may resemble those to 
be seen in all other countries, have, nevertheless, a special character in each 
country.” 


Heraldry in America. 


By Eugene Zieber. Quarto. Red cloth, $ 10 . 00 ; full red Turkey 
morocco, gilt edges, $15.00. 

The publishers take pleasure in announcing the completion of this entirely 
new work, which contains among many attractive features a large amount of 
information for all persons interested in Heraldry, and rules for its proper usage 
in the United States. More than nine hundred and fifty illustrations are distrib- 
uted throughout the text, together with two lithographed plates in colors, two 
steel plates, one copperplate etching, and four half-tone plates, making a hand- 

5 











^ipPl/Korrjp^^iiiBWr 



some volume. Among these illustrations will be found Heraldic Devices, The 
United States Arms and Seal, and Seals of the Departments, Seals of the Colo- 
nies, Territories, and States, Seals of American Bishops and examples of Ecclesi- 
astical Heraldry, Seals of Individuals, Seals of the Civilized Tribes of American 
Indians, Coats of Arms from Tombstones throughout America and from Church 
Windows, Heraldic devices from Colonial Plate, etc.. Insignia of Colonial and 
Revolutionary Societies and American Orders, Coats of Arms (in Architecture) of 
Prominent Colonial Families, Historical American Book-Plates, etc., etc. The 
Rules of Blazoning, with accompanying examples, enable the student readily to 
interpret heraldic notation correctly. In fact, this work is so systematized and 
simplified that the laws of Heraldry are made perfectly clear. A Glossary of 
French and English Heraldic Terms is included. 


The Birds About Us. 


By Charles Conrad Abbott, M.D., author of “Recent Rambles,” 
“Travels in a Tree-Top,” etc. Illustrated with upward of 
seventy-five Bird Portraits. i2mo. Cloth, $2.00. 

‘‘ To those who began life far enough back to recall the time before the greed 
of man, the cruelty of boys, and the vanity of women had begun the ‘ slaughter 
of the innocents,’ this book will come into the bird silence of the age like an 
echo of a sweet old song. To every lover of nature to whom the ‘birds have 
made the sun to shine more brightly, the flowers to appear fairer, the grass 
greener, the very air balmier,’ it will be most welcome. To the young it will be 
a revelation of what is, has been, and may be in bird-life. To some it will be a 
charming companion with whom to walk through the field and forest. To others 
a book of reference, while to others still, who sit before the blazing fire of a 
winter’s night, it will be a magic mirror in which are reflected the cool depths 
of a summer wood and the verdant or flowering fields, the tree-clad hills and the 
long reaches of the marshes by the sea. The book is beautifully printed and 
illustrated, and an exhaustive index adds to its usefulness. A book that should 
be in every home, especially where there is young life.” — To-Day, 


Around a Throne. 



fi 


Catherine II. of Russia, her Collaborators, her Friends, and her 
Favorites. By K. Waliszewski, author of “ Romance of an 
Empress.” Two volumes. 8vo. Cloth, $7.50. 

Half calf, English binding, $12.00. 

Catherine was notably an individual of an exceptional kind. Out of all that 
went to make up her personal greatness, her prestige, and her charm, nothing, it 
may be said, came to her by heritage ; she conquered or created everything about 
her ; the palaces that she lived in were for the most part built by herself, and the 
men she made use of were not only chosen by her, but were fashioned to her pur- 
poses. And the picture the author presents is the great Catherine in the midst of 
those who helped to make her great. 

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The Growth of the Idylls of the King. 

By Richard Jones, Ph.D., Professor of English Literature in Swarth- 
more College. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 

Based upon the only existing copy of the first two Idylls, printed for friends 
in 1857, this volume shows how the general plan of the poem grew in the poet’s 
mind. This copy, now in the British Museum, contains MS. revisions, and ten- 
tative revisions not adopted, and this volume is practically a reproduction of a 
book of which there is only one copy in existence. 

Early English Ballads. 

Chosen by R. Brimley Johnson. Illustrated by W. Cubit! Cooke. 
Illustrated with about two hundred illustrations. Four volumes. 
i2mo. Cloth, $5.00; half calf or half morocco, $ 10 . 00 . 

The text of the Old Ballads has been carefully prepared from the original 
sources in each case, though the spelling is modernized so far as can be done 
without injuring the rhythm or accentuation. Brief historical and explanatory 
notes to many of the ballads are added to the Table of Contents, and the mean- 
ings of obsolete terms are explained in foot-notes. Published in connection 
with Dent & Co. 


In the Garden, and Other Poems. 

By Emily Elizabeth Veeder, author of “Her Brother Donnard.’^ 

i6mo. Cloth, $ 1 . 00 . 

The poets who have hailed from the West have not hitherto won a large 
renown for those sentiments which belong to poetry pure and simple. The singers 
of repute have mainly produced poems of dialect and homely feeling. It is, there- 
fore, pleasant to welcome a new candidate for the laurels whose ideals are of the 
tender, elevated, and fanciful order, and who knows and loves nature for its own 
sake. But Mrs. Veeder possesses also a narrative gift, and can condense into a single 
stanza the fervor of a strong human passion. Her tale. Entranced, will testify to 
this, and her Austin’s Painting of Christ will show the deep devotional quality in 
her nature. 


Madonna, and Other Poems. 


By Harrison S. Morris. Printed from type, and limited to seven 
hundred and fifty copies for America and England. 
Illustrated. i2mo. Cloth extra, $ 2 . 00 . 

“The men who have won repute must make room for a companion. Mr. 
Harrison S. Morris, by lyric right, deserves a high place. We heartily advise our 
readers to become possessed of a book that is likely to be followed by finer work. ’ ’ 
— Norman Gai,k, in the Lo7idon Academy. 

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lipPlNCOTTl 


OAPANYS 



The Sketch=Book. 

By Washington Irving. New Editioji. Illustrated with engravings 
on w^ood, from original designs. Two volumes. 8vo. Cloth 
extra, gilt top, $4.00 ; half calf or half morocco, 

“ It is a pleasure once in a while to meet a new edition of a classic illustrated 
with honest wood-engravings instead of by modern labor-saving ‘ processes. ’ The 
modern processes are valuable, but they do lead to careless work, and carelessness 
is the one thing that will not do in connection with Irving. The illustrations in 
this admirable issue of the ‘Sketch-Book’ are not new. They were made for a 
previous ‘Artists’ edition,’ and in a certain sense they appear old-fashioned. But 
it is a very good fashion, not very far removed from the tasteful refinement of 
Irving’s own day. The landscapes were drawn by Kensett, McEntee, William 
Hart, and other masters of the Hudson River School, and the other illustrations 
represent the work of such well-known draughtsmen of the last generation as 
Barley, Hoppin, McLenan, and Edwin White. They are beautifully engraved in 
the pure English style that Linton and Andrews used to practise, and they seem 
to go with the text more harmoniously than any of the recent attempts at illus- 
trating Irving .” — Philadelphia Times. 


Chambers’s Concise Gazetteer of the World. 

Topographical, Statistical, Historical. One volume. Crown 8vo. 

Reader’s Reference Library, Volume XIII. Half morocco, $2.50. 

This book does not claim to be exhaustive. Its aim has been to tell every- 
thing that may be reasonably wanted about every place likely to be looked for, 
and to tell it with the utmost conciseness consistent with clearness and readable- 
ness. It is a Gazetteer of the World, comprehensive, yet handy, containing the 
latest and most reliable information about nameworthy places at home and 
abroad : the last census of civilized countries, and the most authentic official 
figures have been taken advantage of in every available case. 


0 


Reader’s Reference Library. 

Twelve volumes. Crown 8vo. Half morocco, gilt top. Per set, 
$34.25. Each volume sold separately, as follows: 


The Writer’s Hand-Book . . $2.50 
Brewer’s Historic Note-Book 3.50 
Brewer’s Reader’s Hand-Book 3.50 
Brewer’s Dictionary of Phrase 

and Fable 2.50 

Brewer’s Dictionary of Mira- 
cles 2.50 

Edwards’s Words, Facts, and 
Phrases 2.50 




Worcester’s Comprehensive 

Dictionary $ 2.50 

Roget’s Thesaurus 2.50 

Ancient and Modern Familiar 

Quotations 2.50 

Soule’s Synonymes 2.75 

Hand-Book of Literary Curios- 
ities 3.50 

Gleanings for the Curious . . 3.50 


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|iPH;<cflrr|g^^Migmnic^ 


By William Hazlitt. 

and one hundred for America. 


Liber Amoris. 

Edition limited to four hundred for England 
Price, $6.00 net. 


A newly-printed edition containing numerous passages omitted in the edi- 
tions of 1823. The volume will contain a fine reproduction of William Bewick’s 
chalk drawing of William Hazlitt, a fac-simile of a letter from Hazlitt to Rath- 
more, and one of Sarah Walker to Hazlitt (the only one known to exist). 

The Works of Laurence Sterne. 

Edited by George Saintsbury, with illustrations by E. J. Wheeler. 
Published in connection with Dent & Co., of London. Six 
volumes. i6mo. Cloth, $6.00; half calf or 
half morocco, $13.50. 

. An edition of Sterne. It includes the ‘Life and Opinions of Tristram 
Shandy’ in three volumes, the ‘Sentimental Journey’ in another, and ‘Letters, 
Sermons’ (eight only), and miscellaneous . matters in two more. Mr. B. J. 
Wheeler’s illustrations are extremely good, and Mr. Saintsbury ’s introductions 
to the various works are capital .” — Boston Literary World. 

Corinne, or Italy. 

By Madame de Stael. Translated. With an introduction by George 
Saintsbury. Illustrated by H, S. Greig. Published in connec- 
tion with Dent & Co. Two volumes. i2mo. Cloth, $2.00; 
half calf or half morocco, $4.50. Large-paper Edition, one hun- 
dred copies printed. Fifty for America. Two volumes. 8vo. 
Buckram, $6.00. 

Of their accomplished authoress nothing can be said that has not already 
been better said. She was the reigning queen of intellect in France during a day 
when her subjects were great wits and profound scholars. Corinne is a token, to 
unborn generations, of Madame de Stael’s astonishing brilliancy. 

Cruise of the “ Midge.” 

By Michael Scott. Two volumes. i6mo. Cloth, $2.00; half calf 
or half morocco, $4. 50. 

Tom Cringle’s Log. 

By Michael Scott. Two volumes. i6mo. Cloth, $2.00; half calf 
or half morocco, $4.50. 

“Two books which we never fail to peruse every year are ‘Tom Cringle’s 
Log’ and the ‘Cruise of the Midge,’ in which humor and pathos, the most 
gorgeous descriptions, and the most thrilling narratives so marvellously inter- 
mingle .” — London City Journal. 




The Imitation of Christ. 

From the Latin of Thomas a Kempis, with an Introduction by the 
Ven. F. W. Farrar, D.D., and Five Designs by C. M. Gere. 
i6mo. Cloth, $1.50; crushed levant, limp, $4.00. 

“This edition of the ‘ Imitation’ is delighfully printed in old-fashioned style. 
The type is large, heavy, and clear, and the initials are in red. The designs are 
quite admirable. The book would make an excellent present.” — London Church 
Review. 

Hans Andersen’s Fairy Tales. 

Profusely illustrated by E. A. Lemann. 4to. Cloth, $1.50. 

“In this volume we have seventeen beautiful tales by Hans Christian Ander- 
sen, which have been a source of delight to many juvenile readers. Hitherto 
Andersen had not been adequately illustrated. This new edition is furnished with 
abundant and good illustrations which cannot fail to add interest to the reading 
of these charming stories.” — Zion's. Herald. 

Under Fire. 

A novel. By Captain Charles King, U.S.A., author of '‘The Colo- 
nel’s Daughter,” ” Captain Blake,” etc. Illustrated. 
i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 

“It has been ten years since ‘The Colonel’s Daughter’ ‘came out’ to enjoy 
her protracted bellehood, and, although Captain King has given her many com- 
panions, never till now has her ascendency been seriously threatened. ‘ Under 
Fire’ is the new rival.” — Philadelphia Ledger. 

“No story that Captain King has written has a more exciting plot than this. 
Beginning at the time of the Custer massacre in ’76, it covers the fierce Indian 
campaigns that followed. There are dramatic situations which are unexcelled 
by any in the captain’s previous works.” — Bridgeport Daily Standard. 

Poppsea. 

A novel. By Julian Gordon, author of “A Diplomat’s Diary,” etc. 

i2mo. Cloth, $ 1 . 00 . 

“When we begin by saying that, in our humble opinion, ‘ Poppaea’ is the 
strongest and the most notable novel of the year, we have said about all that can 
be said ; but the book demands on its merit more than passing notice. ‘ Julien 
Gordon’ — the nom de plume of Mrs. S. V. R. Cruger, of New York — took at once 
a place in the front rank of novelists when she wrote ‘ A Diplomat’s Diary’ and 
‘A Puritan Pagan.’ . . . We repeat what we said in beginning, that ‘Poppaea’ 
is, all things considered, the strongest novel that the season has brought out. 
Those who fail to read it will miss a chance to see that Mrs. Cruger is justly 
entitled to rank with the best of modern story-tellers.” — Buffalo Commercial. 

10 



The Spell of Ursula. 

A new novel. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands, author of “ My Pretty 
Jane.” In Lippincott'" s Series of Select Novels for December. 
i2mo. Paper, 50 cents ; cloth, $1.00. 

When a first novel wins a success, we naturally look for a second from the 
same source with the eagerness born of whetted appetite and critical comparison. 

Pretty Jane !” made a wide group of friends for the new novelist, and this 
second book will not disappoint the most exacting of them. It likewise deals 
with the English high life which the author knows best, and deals with it in the 
same winning manner which fascinated us in the earlier book. 


The Despotic Lady. 

A new novel. B}' W. E. Norris. i2nio. Cloth, $i.oo. 

Clever as a comedy by Mr. Daly’s players is this delightful little story by W. 
E. Norris, — the latest work of an always notable tale-teller, “The Despotic Lady’’ 
is a tale of social diplomacy. An evening’s reading lies between these attractive 
covers such as can rarely be found among ephemeral books. 


Stories from the Diary of a Doctor. 

A volume of short stories. By Mrs. L. T. Meade, author of “The 
Honorable Miss,” “ Out of the Fashion,” etc. With twenty- 
four full-page illustrations. i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 

“‘Stories from the Diary of a Doctor,’ by L. T. Meade and Dr. Clifford 
Halifax, is remarkably similar in character to Dr. Doyle’s ‘ Round the Red 
Lamp. ’ The stories are of a rather more sensational character, if that be possi- 
ble, or at least the sensationalism is different in kind, the medical lore being used 
more as the setting for fiction than for its own sake .” — Springfield Republican, 


By Reef and Palm. 

A volume of short stories. By Louis Becke. With an introduction 
by Lord Pembroke. Tall i6mo. Cloth, $i.oo. 

“ A really queer little book of languorously picturesque yarns about the eternal 
summer life of the South Sea islan iers. They relate almost entirely to that facet 
of the life of those islands which relates to and reflects the loves of white men 
and brown women, often cynical and brutal, sometimes exquisitely tender and 
pathetic. They must necessarily fill a large space in any true picture of the 
South Sea Islands. These little stories are indeed romance in an entirely new 
form .” — Boston Transcript. 


II 






OAPANYS 


The Double Emperor. 

A Story of a Vagabond Cunarder. A remarkable story of adventure 
by William Laird Clowes, author of “The Captain of the 
Mary Rose,” etc. With eight full-page illustra- 
tions. i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 

“ One of the cleverest, most original, and stirringly interesting novels of the 
year is ‘The Double Emperor,’ by W. Laird Clowes, author of ‘The Great 
Peril,’ and other popular novels. The plot from the start moves with a spirit 
and ingenuity that are most fascinating. The character-drawing is of the best, 
and the action of the story does not for a moment wane in interest. The book is 
spiritedly illustrated .” — Boston Home Journal, 



Two Girls. 

A book for young girls. By Amy E. Blanchard, author of “ Twenty 
Little Maidens.” Illustrated by Ida Waugh. 
i2mo. Cloth extra, $1.25. 

“Amy E. Blanchard, the author of ‘Two Girls,’ has evidently known and 
deeply studied the manners of young people in their teens, and she has repro- 
duced for other young people a life-like book which will please because it is true, 
and because its truth is interesting. One hears the inflection of childish voices 
through the pages and seems to know personally, and like, the young folks who 
travel through them. The book is illustrated with noticeably true pictures of 
home-life by Miss Ida Waugh, than whom there is no better painter of children 
in the artistic ranks. As a gift for Christmas the volume would be admirable 
both in looks and in tone .” — New York Literary News. 


A book for girls. 


Olivia. 

By Mary Louise Molesworth, 
Cloth extra, $1.25. 


Illustrated. i2mo. 


“Another of Mrs. Molesworth’s ever-charming stories has appeared, and 
this one takes its title from its sweet girl heroine, Olivia. It is a story to please 
young and old alike. Its pictures of home-life are restful and helpful, and Olivia, 
her noble father, her lively little sister, Pussy, Miss Ibbotson, and Mr. Everard 
are a pleasant company of people to meet. There is a vein of tender sentiment 
running through it all and plenty of wholesome humor. The volume is prettily 
bound and well illustrated .” — Boston Times. 


The Old, Old 5tory. 

A new novel. By Rosa Nouchette Carey. i2mo. Cloth, $ 1 . 00 . ^ 

“Thousands of girls throughout the world have been charmed by Rosa /Sj 

Nouchette Carey’s stories. This author possesses an uncommon gift of being 
able to write for young people, for girls who are standing ‘ where the brook and ^ 





the river meet,’ an accomplishment which makes her stories eagerly sought 
after. ‘The Old, Old Story,’ by Miss Carey, is full of that same sweet charm 
which has characterized her other works and which will commend it to readers 
generally, but particularly to young women.” — SI. Paul Dispatch. 

niebical anb Scientific. 


Higher Medical Education 

Thk Truk Interest of the Public and of the Profession. 
Two Addresses delivered before the Medical Department of the 
University of Pennsylvania on October i, 1877, and October 2, 
1893. By William Pepper, M.D., LL.D. 8vo. Cloth, $1.00. 

The first of these Addresses was delivered at the opening of the one hundred 
and twelfth course of lectures in the Medical Department of the University of 
Pennsylvania. As extensive and radical changes had been made in the plan of 
medical teaching in that school, it seemed proper that a full statement should be 
given of the reasons for such reforms. An attempt was made, therefore, to present 
fairly the then position of medical teaching in America, to point out its chief 
defects, and to indicate the causes that had led to them, and the evils to which 
they in turn gave rise. The second Address was delivered sixteen years later, in 
October, 1893, at the opening of the Four Years’ Course of Medical Study. It is 
hoped it may serve to indicate the advances affected in the interval, and also the 
lines along which further progress should be made. In order to enable the accuracy 
of the statements in these Addresses to be tested, as well as to afford information 
which may be of value to those specially interested in this subject, brief synopses 
of the state of medical education in various countries in 1877 ^^<1 1893 have 

been prepared. These are given in three Appendices. 


Therapeutics: its Principles and Practice. 


Ninth Edition. A Work on Medical Agencies, Drugs and Poisons, 
with Especial Reference to the Relations between Physiology and 
Clinical Medicine. Thoroughly Revised on the basis of the Pharma- 

copoeia of i8go. By H. C. Wood, M.D., LL.D. One octavo vol- 
ume, one thousand pages. Cloth, $6.00 ; sheep, $6.50. 


As a matter of course, the work has been thoroughly adapted to the new Phar- 
macopoeia of the United States, and such new official remedies as Aspidosperma, 
Naphtol, Hydrastinine, and the Strontium Salts have been very carefully and 
elaborately discussed. Throughout there has been an endeavor to eliminate effete 
material, and to incorporate all the numerous discoveries of the past three years. 
In a treatise like the present it is important to keep the volume as small as is con- 
sistent with clearness and thoroughness of study, but the growth of the science of 
therapeutics in the three years has necessitated the addition of nearly one hundred 
pages. 






13 


First Aid to the Injured : 

And Management of the Sick. An Ambulance Hand-Book and 
Elementary Manual of Nursing. By E. J. Lawless, M.D., D.P.H. 
Illustrated with forty-nine engravings. i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 

“ There have been many manuals of this character, each being better than the 
last, but this little work of Dr. Lawless is a complete rSsmni of all that precede it, 
and supplemented with newer ideas. For the class-room it has questions and 
answers that will fix the proceedings necessary in each case in the mind of the 
student. We are sure that it will be received with favor by the whole profession, 
for it will save much time in research, and be the right thing at the right time.” — 
Pacific Record of Medicine and Surgery, 

Clinical Gynaecology. 

Edited by John M. Keating, M.D., LL.D., and Henry C. Coe, M.D., 

M.R.C.S. Medical and Surgical, for Students and Practitioners. 
Special prominence is given to the clinical side of diseases of 
women, and unsettled questions and theoretical discussions are 
avoided. The volume will be profusely illustrated. Sold only by 
subscription. In press. 

Modern medical teaching has become largely clinical. This is true not only 
in the various schools for post-graduate instruction which are now flourishing in 
most of the large cities, but even in the undergraduate colleges, where the number 
of purely didactic lectures has been notably diminished. In view of this fact, the 
publishers have conceived the idea that a work on gynaecology from a purely clinical 
stand-point, written by several well-known teachers, would be acceptable to' the 
student and general practitioner, who need to have their information supplied in 
the most clear, concise, and practical form. 

A Text=Book of Mechanical Engineering. 

By Wilfred J. Lineham, Head of the Engineering Department at the 
Goldsmith’s Company’s Institute, New Cross. Part I. Work- 
shop Practice. Part II. Theory and Examples. Illustrated by 
eighteen plates and seven hundred and twenty-two cuts. Seven 
hundred and seventy-two pages. 8vo. Cloth, $4.50. 

The author has prepared a comprehensive work which shows the student the 
general lines upon whieh their studies should proceed, and eliminates the dis- 
advantage of having to use a series of small text-books. The work is divided into 
the following eleven chapters : Casting and Moulding ; Pattern Making and Casting 
Design ; Metallurgy and Properties of Materials ; Smithing and Forging ; Machine 
Tools ; Marking-off, Machining, Fitting, and Erecting ; Boiler Making and Plate 
Work ; Strength of Materials, Structures, and Machine Parts ; On Energy, and the 
Transmission of Power to Machines ; On Heat and Heat Engines ; Hydraulics and 
Hydraulic Machines. 

14 




< 5 ^ 






[y] oC3?oo ^ fd) 


Source and Mode of Solar Energy. 

By J- W. Heysinger, M.D. Illustrated. 121110. Cloth, $1.50. 

Dr. Heysinger has brought to the subject a wide and discriminating knowledge, 
which, with the aid of his own surprising speculations, has enabled him to discover 
a possible clue to the hidden processes of the sun and stars, and even to the obscure 
passages of the Bible which deal with kindred facts known to the Hebrews. This 
theory is an entirely original one, and possesses many claims to credence. 



The Practice of Pharmacy. 

New {Third') Edition, By Joseph P. Remington, Ph.M., F.C.S. A 
Treatise on the Modes of Making and Dispensing Official, Un- 
official, and Extemporaneous Preparations, with Descriptions of 
their Properties, Doses, and Uses. Greatly improved, and revised 
according to the new Pharmacopoeia, with both systems of weights 
and measures. 8vo. Cloth, $6.00; sheep, $6.50. 

The publication of the United States Pharmacopoeia (seventh decennial re- 
vision) in 1893 furnishes the raison d'Hre for a new edition of the ‘‘Practice of 
Pharmacy,” the sweeping changes which have been made in the Pharmacopoeia, 
and notably the acceptance of the Metric system of weights and measures, having 
caused a revolution in pharmaceutical practice. The addition of many new reme- 
dies and the alterations in chemical and botanical nomenclature in the Pharma- 
copoeia have added greatly to the labor of preparing the manuscript of the present 
work ; and, since it aims to present those facts which shall be of the greatest 
usefulness to the pharmacist and student in such a manner as to command atten- 
tion, without being so brief as to fail in its mission, an increase in the size of the 
book was inevitable. 


The Water Supply of Towns and the Construction ^ 

of Water= Works. M 

A Practical Treatise for the Use of Engineers and Students of Engi- 

neering. By W. R. Burton, Assoc. Inst. C.E., Professor of Sani- a 
tary Engineering in the Imperial University, Tokio, Japan, etc. ^ 
To which is appended a Paper on ‘ ‘ The Effects of Earthquakes 0 
on Water-Works,'’ by Professor John flilne, F.R.S. Targe 8vo. ^ 
With two hundred and fifty-seven illustrations and forty-four A 

plates. $9.00. ^ 

It is superfluous at the present day to expound at any great length the necessity 
for a plentiful supply of pure water wherever people are closely congregated in 
towns or villages, for the necessity is known to all. The present volume is based 0 
largely upon the author s experience in this particular branch of engineering, but 
at the same time the author has not failed to make free use of the works of such 
authorities as Humber and Fanning ^ 

J5 o 




(y) 





^ortl^coming publications. 



Midsummer=Night’s Dream. 

Edited by Horace Howard Furness. Volume X. Variorum Edition 
of Shakespeare’s Plays. In preparation. 

Lives of the Astronomers. 

By Robert S. Ball, author of “In Starry Realms,” “In the High 
Heavens,” etc. hi preparation. 

Socialism. 

By Robert Flint, D.D., LL.D., Professor of Divinity in the University 
of Edinburgh, author of “Theisms,” etc. One volume. 

8vo. In press. 

Miss Cherry* Blossom of Tokyo. 

A novel. By John Luther Long. In press. 

The Banishment of Jessop Blythe. 

A novel. By Joseph Hatton, author of “By Order of the Czar,” 

‘ ‘ Cigarette Papers, ’ ’ etc. In press. 

In Market Overt. 

A new novel. By James Payn. In Lippincott 's Series of Select 
Novels for January. In press. 

Pediatrics. 

The Hygiene and Medical Treatment of Children. By Thomas 
Morgan Rotch, M.D., Professor of the Diseases of Children, 
Harvard University. With over four hundred illustrations in 
the text, and eight full-page lithographic plates in colors. Nine 
hundred pages. In preparation. Sold only by subscription, 

A Text* Book of Chemistry. 

Intended for the Use of Pharmaceutical and Medical Students. By 
Samuel P. Sadtler, Ph.D., F.C.S., and Henry Trimble, Ph.M., 

Professors in the Philadelphia College of Pharmacy. One octavo 
volume. In press, 

i6 




oo ^ oo 






LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


A. Weekly Feast to Nourish Hungry Minds, — N. Y. Evangelist, 


Littell’s Living Age. 


Over half a century has passed since its first number appeared, and 
now, as it enters its 52d year, it still maintains the high standard 
of literary excellence which has characterized it from the beginning. 

OBSERVE ! The Living Age is a Weekly Magazine giving 
fifty-two numbers of sixty-four pages each, or more than Three and 
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THE ABLEST MINDS OF THE AGE, 

and presenting a mass of matter Unequalled in Quality and Quantity by any other 
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ature, Encyclopedic in its Scope, Character, Comprehensiveness and Completeness, 
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Ablest Essays and Reviews, Biographical Sketches, 

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INDISPENSABLE to every one who wishes to keep pace with the events 
of intellectual progress of the time, or to cultivate in one’s self or one’s family gen- 
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A NEW SERIES was begun with the first number of its 200th Volume, January 1st, 1894. With 
It were begun entirely new tales, already embracing three Copyrighted Serials, from the pens of noted 
French and German novelists ; and shorter stories by prominent foreign authors. Below are named 
some of the many eminent authors already represented in this, the sixth, series. 


Rt. Hon.W. E. GLADSTONE, Prof. HUXLEY.F.R.S. Gen’l Sir ARCH’LD ALISON, G.C.B. 
Prof. VAMBERY, Prince PAUL KROPOTKIN, Sir ROBERT BALL, F. R. S. 


W. H. MALLOCK, 
Countess COWPER, 
LESLIE STEPHEN, 
FREDERIC HARRISON 
J. P. MAHAFFY, 
ANDREW LANG, 
WALTER PATER, 
FRIDTJOF NANSEN, 


PAUL PERRET, (French) 
FRANK E. BEDDARD, F.R.S 
BEATRICE HARRADEN, 
Mrs. ANDREW CROSSE, 
MULJI DEVJI VEDANT, 
CHARLES EDWARDES, 

J. NORMAN LOCKYER, 
CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI, 


REGINALD B. BRETT, 
ERNST ECKSTEIN, (German.) 
WM. CONNOR SYDNEY, 

W. W. STORY. 

Sir BENJ. BAKER, K. C. M. G. 
Sir HERBERT MAXWELL, 
Count LEO TOLSTOI, 

The ABBE PREVOST, (French) 


With the steady improvement in all lines of trade and commerce, and increased confidence in 
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17 


LIPPIXCOTT'S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


THE 

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Is the Oldest, Handsomest, and Most 
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T he success which The Art Interchange has 
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AND HOME DECORATION IS CAREFULLY TREATED. 

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LI PPI NCOTT’S 

Pronouncing Gazetteer 

OF the: world. 

Edition of 1893. Revised and Enlarged. With Latest Census Returns. 

A complete pronouncing Gazetteer or Geographical Dictionary of the World, containing 
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ItnperUil Svo. Nearly :i,000 pages. Sheep hinding, $12.00; half 
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” No school can get on without this book any more than without a clock. In no other 
way could the same amount of money buy so much that is absolutelv indispensable for a 
grammar school, with the possible exception of a d\c\\on^ry." —Boston journal of Education. 

A series of statistical tables which have been added materially increase the superiority of this edition over pre- 
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18 




LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 



A New and Superbly Illustrated Life of 

NAPOLEON 

His Arduous Boyhood — Struggles for Education — Lightning-like Rise to Great- 
ness — Extraordinary Campaigns — Love Letters to Josephine — Marriage — Em- 
peror — Austerlitz — Elba — Waterloo — St. Helena — The most extraordinary 
career in history will be fully told in 


McCLURE’S 

Magazine. 


The Life has been prepared by a 
brilliant young historical writer, Miss 
Ida M. Tarbell, who has access to new 
material that has been revealed by 
the latest investigations of Napoleonic 
students. She has thus been enabled 
to tell Napoleon’s wonderful career 
as it has never before been told in 
popular form. Her narrative, truth- 
ful in every detail, by reason of her 
vivid style and masterly presentation 
of the extraordinary events in Napo- 
leon’s life, is more absorbing than 
fiction. 


The Illustrations are on a scale 
never before attempted in any maga- 
zine. There are 8o portraits of 
Napoleon, painted mostly from life, 
by the greatest artists, and showing 
him as he appeared at all ages, from 
22 until his death. The story of his 
career is written in the portraits. 

Over loo other portraits and pictures 
of his father, mother, Josephine, Marie 
Louise, son, marshals, generals, etc., 
etc., and his great battlefields, consti- 
tuting a veritable pictorial life by the 
most famous artists of the greatest man 
of all time. 


THIS LIFE OF NAPOLEON 

Complete in eight numbers, beginning OMP nOI I AO 
Nov., ’94, sent to any address for 


A FEW OF THE OTHER FEATURES FOR I895. 

Rudyard Kipling and Conan Doyle 

will each contribute several short stories. 


LINCOLN 

A complete series of portraits and an anecdotal story of his life from living 
men who knew him, will begin in an early issue. 


R. L. Stevenson “ st. ives; 

A Novel of Napoleonic Wars in 
Spain. 

Prof. Drummond 

Another article on Mr. Moody, and 
other articles. 

Prince Bismarck 


W. D. Howells 

and 

Edward Bellamy 

A Real Conversation. 

Beatrice Harraden 


Other 

CONTRIBUTORS ; 

J. C. Harris 
Stanley Weyman 
S. R. Crockett 
Octave Thanet 
Robert Barr 
“Q” 

Bret Harte 
Sir Robert Ball 
Anthony Hope 
Mrs. Spofford 
Gilbert Parker 
S. O. Jewett 
C. A. Dana 
Canon Farrar 
Thomas Hardy 


By Archibald Forbes (with many por- How I wrote “ Ships that Pass in the 
traits). Night.” 


To new yearly subscribers, beginning January, 1895, 
November and December numbers furnished Free. 


S. 5 . McCLURE, L’t’d, 

36 Lafayette Place, New York. 


15c. a Copy ; 
$1.50 a Year. 


19 


LIPPIXCOTTS MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


KLHCKNER’S 


NEW GALLERY 


7 West 28th Street, New York. 
(Near Fifth Avenue.) 


^inc Ctrt publications, 
(Etct^ings, (Engraninas, etc. 


Bringing Home the Bride. 

(Companion to Breaking Home-Ties.) 

After the Painting hy Thos. Hovenden. 

“The First Railway Train.” 

After the Painting by E. L. Henry. 

A LARGE SELECTION OF MINIATURE POR- 
TRAITS OF CELEBRITIES AND 
COURT BEAUTIES. 

NAPOLEON, TALLEYRAND, RACINE, 
MOLiMiE JOSEPHINE, MARIE LOUISE, 
DE STAEL, ROLAND, Etc. 

Ckioioe Colleotion of CUatef'^ColoPs and modern 
Oil Paintings by Native and Foreign Artists. 

KLACKNER’S PORTFOLIOS AND 
STANDS. 

Stands made in Ash, Oak, Cherry, Mahogany, or 
any other wood. Portfolios in Linen and Morocco, 
—in all sizes. 

SEND FOR CATALOGUE. 



C. KLACKNER, 

7 West 28th Street, New York, 

12 Haymarket, London, (Near Fifth Avenne.) 



DRUMMONPS NEW WORK. 

THE ASCENT OF MAN. 



PARAGON OF SONG. 

By Root and Case. A new book for Singing 
Schools, Singing Classes, Conventions and Insti- 
tutes. The best book of its kind ever published. 
Everything in it is new* Price 50 cents postpaid. 

TREBLE CLEF CHOIR. 

By G. F. Root & 0. B. Towner. For women’s voices. 
Contains Sacred and Secular Music, Glees, Part 
Songs, etc., composed and arranged expressly for 
this book. There is also a short elementary course 
of instruction in the book. Price 50 cents postpaid. 

ELITE ORGAN ALBUM. 

Edited by P. F. Campigllo. A collection of Preludes, 
Offertories and music for all occasions, selected 
from the works of the best writers. Price, $2.00 
postpaid. 

MUSIC TABLET 

with a condensed view of the Material of Com- 
position. Sheets ruled with staff line and perfor- 
ated for tearing. Price 25 cents postpaid. 

THE JOHI^ CHURCH CO., 
CINCINNATI - NEW YORK- C111€A«0 


By Henry Drummond, F.G.S., author of “Natural Law in 
the Spiritual World,” etc. Cloth, 8vo. 346 pages. Price, 
^ 2 . 00 . 

“ The first question which will be asked regarding Prof. 
Drummond’s new book is, How does it compare with 
‘ Natural Law in the Spiritual World ?’ It is about the same 
size as the volume which a few years ago took captive the 
reading world, and, needless to say, it is written in the 
same fascinating style; but it is a much better book. 

“ Nothing could surpass the delicacy, reverence, reserve, 
and self-restraint with which Prof. Drummond exhibits the 
marvels of man’s origin and ascent as made known by 
recent science.” — From Review of Advance Sheets in Bntish 
Weekly, London,, May 17, 1894, hy Marcus Dods. 


“ In its treatment of the deepest problems of life this hook is 
a masterpiece'' 

THE SCHOOL OF LIFE. 


Divine Providence in the Light of Modern Science. The 
Law of Development Applied to Christian Thinking and 
Christian Living. By Theodore F. Seward. 12mo, cloth, 
297 pages. Price, $1.50 

“ ‘ The School of Life’ presents a view of the relation of 
men to God, and of human relationships, which is not only 
profoundly true but profoundly comforting.”— Prow Mr. 
Hamilton W. Mabie. 


Sent post paid on receipt of price. 

JAMES POTT & CO., Publishers, 

114 Fifth Ave., New York and London. 


20 


LIPPINCOTTS MAGAZINE ADVERTHSER. 


ABRAHAMSON’S 

BOOKKEEPING CHART 

Or a Complete Course of Instruction in the Art of 
Dou»)le-Entry Bookkeeping^. Price, 50 cents. 

Fullv illustrating the Invoice Book, Sales Book, Cash 
Book, 'Commission Sales Book or Consignment Book, Day 
Book, Journal, and Ledger. Showing forth how and when 
to enter transactions into these books. How to Journalize; 
how to post into the Ledger; how to open, keep, and close 
any set of books kept by double entry, with outlines and 
explanations, showing how to go about the work, step by 
step, and finally how to make out a balance-sheet, giving in 
detail the condition of the business on the day of closing the 
books. It is a complete manual of Double-Entry Bookkeep- 
ing, which can be mastered in a few hours without the aid 
of a teacher. 

CHAS. M. ABRAHAMSON, Principal and Founder. 

ABRAHAMSON BUSINESS COLLEGE 
AND SCHOOL OF SHORTHAND, 

Established 1880. 608 Broadway, CAMDEN, N. J. 


Massachusetts, Auburndale 

(ten miles from Boston). 

Lasell Seminary for Young Women 

Suggests to parents seeking a good school, consideration 
of the following points in its methods; 

1st. Its special care of the health of growing girls. 

Resident Nurse supervising work, diet, and exercise; 
abundant food in good variety, and well cooked; early and 
long sleep ; a fine gymnasium, furnished by Dr. Sargent, of 
Harvard; bowling-alley and swimming-bath ; no regular or 
foreknown examinations, etc. 

2d. Its broadly-planned course of study. 

Boston proximity both necessitates and helps to furnish 
the best of teachers, including many specialists; with one 
hundred and twenty pupils, a faculty of thirty. Four years’ 
course ; in some things equal to college work ; in others, planned 
rather for home and womanly life. Two studies required, and 
two to be chosen from a list of eight or ten electives. One 
preparatory year. Special students admitted, if eighteen 
years old or over, or graduates of High Schools. 

3d. Its home-like air and character. 

Training in self-government; limited number (many de- 
clined every fall for lack of room); personal oversight in 
habits, manners, care of person, room, etc. ; comforts not 
stinted. 

4th. Its handiwork and other unusual departments. 

Pioneer school in scientific teaching of Cooking, Millin- 
ery, Dress-cutting, Business Law for Women, Home Sanita- 
tion, Swimming. 

Regular expense for school year, $500. For illustrated 
catalogue address (mentioning Lippincott’s) C. C. Bragdon, 
Principal. 

Jennie June says : “ Itis the brightest, most home-like and 
progressive boarding-school I ever saw.” 

Mary J. Safford, M.D., of Boston, says: “ I believe you are 
honestly trying to educate, and not veneer, young women for 
life’s duties.” 


Maryland, Baltimore, Eutaw Place and 
Lanvale Street. 

The Sarah Randolph School. 


NOT 



BUT 

$3 UlOFth fOF $2 


REMITTANCE of 52.00 to the Publishers of Good 
Housekeeping will secure the following ; 

Good Housekeeping for 1895 $2.00 

Good Housekeeping for October, November, 
and December, 1894 (the fifteen months covering the 
valuable series of ” The Food Question” Papers) . . .50 

“Kitchen Mysteries— A Guide to Good Housekeeping” 

(five books in one, “ A Key to Cooking,” “ Perfect 
Bread,” “ Six Cups of Coffee.” “ Dainty Desserts for 
Dainty Diners,” and “ Lessons in Candy Making,” 
a combined volume of over 300 pages of practical 
and valuable household literature) 50 


$3.00 

All sent post-free on receipt of 2.00 

The list of caterers for the attention of our readers was 
never so plentiful in numbers and excellent in quality as 
now. The series of “ Food Question” papers, so ahly inau- 
gurated by Prof. Atwater, the celebrated chemist of the 
Middletown, Ct., Wesleyan University, and of broad fame 
and much experience in the chemical world, will be con- 
tinued by his associate. Prof. Charles D. Woods, and other 
writers of note, to be hereafter named. Later on papers on 
Wastes, Economical Preparations, and Adulterations of 
Food, will be taken up by such writers as Miss Parloa, Mrs. 
Ellen H. RJchards, Mrs. H. M. Plunkett, Mrs. Mary J. Lin- 
coln, Anna Barrows, and others; these to be followed by 
papers on Invalid, Infant, and Patent Foods, to be treated 
and exemplified by original contributions. 

Two new departments, one of “ Mothers and Children,” 
for which much excellent provision has already been made, 
and a department of “ Sunday Song and Sermon,” composed 
of original and selected literature more particularly de- 
signed for Sunday reading, will be added in January. 

“The Quiet Hours for the Quick Wilted” department will 
be much enlarged and strengthened ; for instance, the $50.00 
Prize Puzzle, which appears in the November, 1894, issue, 
will be followed by others of a similar nature. 

Now is the time to subscribe. 

CLARK W. BRYAN CO., 

Publishers, 

SPRINGFIELD, MASS. 



(Founded by Miss Sarah Randolph, of Virginia.) 

English and French Boarding and Day School for Girls. 
Regular and Elective Courses. College Preparation. Fall 
Term begins Sept. 20, 1894. 

Mrs. a. L. Armstrong, Principal. 


Pennsylvania, Philadelphia. 

The Misses Weldon, French & English School, 

331 South 17th Street, Philadelphia. 

Vacation Classes Ti'avel Abroad. 

Application from a few young ladies wishing to join the 
School’s exclusive class travelling about Europe, June to 
October, 1894, received at 

331 South 17th Street, Philadelphia. 


Boston, Mas.s., Franklin Square. 

New England Conservatory of Music. 

( The Leading Conservatory of America.) 

Founded by Dr. Eben Tourj^e. Carl Faelten, Director. 
Send for Prospectus, giving full information. 

Frank W. Hale, General Manager. 


LANGUAGES MASTERED IN 10 WEEKS. 

Part I (3 Lessons), either language, sent for 25c. 
MEISTERSCHAFT BUREAU, Boston, Mass. 

FRENCH, GERMAN, SPANISH, ITALIAN. 


IJ O D nr LI A writing thoroughly taught 

■% I n ^ \J by mail or personally, 
^^^ituations procured all pupils when competent. 
Send for circular. W. G. CHAFFEE, Oswego, N. Y. 
Book-keeping, Penmanship, and Spanish thoroughly taught. 


Celebrated PFRNIN method. 
IlwrLnanU ■ Awarded Medal and Diploma 
at World’s Fair. Simplest and best in the world. Trial 
lesson FREE. For books and lessons by MAIL, write 

H. M. PERNIN, Author, Detroit, Mich. 


PLAYS 


Dialogues, Speaxers, for School, 
Club and Parlor. Catalogue free. 
T. S> DENISON, Pub. Chicago, lU. 


21 


LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


OVE-R TWO MILLIO/NS 

of the cream of the intelligent people of the country have read the 

Cosmopolitan Magazine 


during the past year, and it is expected that this number will be doubled during the 
3"ear that is coming. 

The causes for this popularity are various, but a glance at a partial list of authors 
and artists, whose work has appeared in the magazine pages during that time, will 


show the principal one. 

THE LIST OF AUTHORS INCLUDES: 

James Anthony Froude, 

Armando Palacio Valdez, 

William Dean Howells, 

Friedrich Spielhagen, 
Mark Twain, 

De Maupassant, 

Sir Edwin Arnold, 

Francisque Sarcey, 

Walter Besant, 

Robert Grant, 

Camille Flammarion, 

Rudyard Kipling, 

Edmund Qosse, 

Sarah Grand, 

Count Napoleon Ney. 


THE LIST OF ARTISTS INCLUDES! 

Daniel Vierge, 

Frederic Remington, 

Wm. Hamilton Gibson, 

C. S. Reinhart, 

Hopkinson Smith, 

Josd Cabrinety, F. G. Attwood, 

F. O. Small, 

J. Habert-Dys, 

Oliver Herford, 

Otto Guillonet, 

Dan Beard, F. H. Schell, 

H. S. Mowbray, 

Paul De Longpre, 

Charles Toche, 

W. T. Smedley. 


Sixteen months have now elapsed since The Cosfnopolitan set the example of what 
may done for the public by the public’s assistance, in giving a reduction of price 


from $ 3.00 a* 

a year to $1-50 Si yQSiV. 

During these sixteen months there has been no decrease in size or quality of mag- 
azine, or in paper and printing, but on the contrary THE ARTISTIC AND LITERARY 
EXCELLENCE have been steadily advanced to higher standards. 


TIlP YP 3 r nrnnikP^ bring to The Cosmopolitan a reading clientele never before 

iUB IBfll 10 3 J [IlUillliBi equalled by any periodical in any country. Splendidly 

equipped in its new home, with the most improved machinery and appliances, and 
every facility for the most perfect mechanical work at the lowest cost, the energies of 
the magazine staff will be devoted, during 1895, to excelling its previous record in the 
field of art and literature. 


Lippincott’s Magazine 

you know all about. It has no rival in its class. Its price is $3.00 a year. We, how- 
ever, have made special arrangements with the publishers of The Cosmopolitan whereby 
we can offer both magazines for a year for only $4.00. 


SEND ALL ORDERS TO “LIPPINCOTT’S,’’ PHILADELPHIA, PA. 

22 


LIPPINCOTT'8 MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


Artistic Presents of Permanent Value. 
Fine Pictures at Moderate Prices. 


High-class Etchings and Engravings, both old and modern, 
specially suitable for framing, and many of them rare and 
unprocurable elsewhere. Excellent pictures of this class cost 
from $3.00 upward. 

Eine Water Colors, costing from $20.00 upward. 

Descriptive Catalogue No. 10 {of modern etchings only), 
with fifty illustrations, mailed on receipt of five two-cent 
stamps. ' * 

Correspondence is invited. Correspondents can have a 
selection of pictures sent on approval, on receipt of reference 
or introduction. 


Frederick Keppel & Co., 


Paris, . 20 East i 6 th Street, 
Chicago, New York. 


HANS 

. * * FAIRY TALES. 

Translated by MADAME DB CHATELAIN. 

Illustrated with 
Forty Original Pictures by 
E. A. LEMANN. 

$ 1 . 50 . 

Notwithstanding the numerous editions of 
Hans Andersen already in the market, there is 
not one that adequately illustrates these most 
charming fairy stories. The present attractive 
edition will fill the gap, and be found worthy to 
take rank with the best children’s books. 

For sole by all Soohsellers, or will be sent direct by 

J. B. Lippincott Company, Publishers, 

RHIL-KDEL-RHIH. 

23 





LIPPIXCOTT'S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 



VISITORS TO NEW YORK 

Seeking comfort, quiet, and an elegant home will find the 

Westminster Hotel, 

Sixteenth St. and Irving Place, 

NEW YORK, 

Replete with every modern convenience and comfort. Mod- 
erate tariff. Location one block east of Union Square. 
Convenience of Broadway, without its noise. Accessible to 
all Railways, Ferries, the Shopping Centre, and Places of 
Amusement. 

AMERICAN PLAN, $3.50 Per Day anc^ Upwards. 

E. N. ANABLE, Proprietor. 


A Good Broth is 



half a Dinner, 


gVERY ONE can afford to use Clam 
Bouillon for Lunch, Dinner, and 
Tea at 20 cents a quart. Enough 
for a whole family. Prepared in five 
minutes from a bottle of 

BURNHAM’S 

CLAM 

BOUILLON 

Quality improved, price reduced, 
larger bottles. All Grocers sell it. 

E. S. BURNHAM CO., 

120 Gansevoort St., N. Y. 

Sample bottle, 10 cents; makes a pint. 



BLUE 

AND 


Is a magazine for men and women. It is eagerly read by boys and girls. 
It is fast winning its way into homes everywhere. Its contents and 
illustrations are first-class. There is something in each number for 
everybody. History, Romance, Poetry, Music, Essays on Finance, 
National Politics, and living issues of the day, by the best writers. 

American in Everything from Cover to Cover. 


GRAY 


BLUE AND GRAY is mailed free to any part of the United States 
or Canada for $1.00 per year. Single copies may be had from any 
newsdealer for 10 cents, and if he is out of the number you wish he 
will get it for you. 


THE CURRENT PUBLISHING CO., Philadelphia, Pa. 

24 


LIPPINCOTT'8 MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


Hot Springs. 


OF THE 



ARK. 1, , (Carlsbad 

^Aerica 


S=\^ILITIES... 


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Arlington Hotel, 
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HOTELS 


Hotel Eastman, 
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Plateau Hotel, 
Haynes’ Villa, 
Great Northern. 



EXCELLENT CHURCHES. 
EREE LIBRARY. 

OPERA HOUSE. PARKS. 


EINE LIVERY. 

BEAUTIEUL DRIVES AND RIDES. 


Four Other Noted 


WITHIN 
SIX niLES. 


NEW OFFICIAL GUIDE TO HOT SPRINGS 
HAILED 
FREE. 



to..., 

H. C. TOWNSEND, Gen*I Passenger Agt.» 
Iron Mountain Route, 

ST. LOUIS. 


.•••oO 


LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


The rumble of the Empire State Express is 
heard round the world.'^ 


SAFETY 


complete as human 
ingenuity can devise. 


SPEED 


exceeding that of 
any other railroad. 


COMFORT 


greater than any other 
transportation line. 


Block Signals. 

The entire main line of the New York Central, 
from New York to Buffalo and Niagara Falls, is 
protected by the most perfect system of block 
signals in the world. 


Empire State Express, 

The New York Central’s fastest train in the 
world, is a striking example of railway progress 
in the nineteenth century, and is only one of 12 
great through trains that leave Grand Central 
Station each day — practically a train every hour. 

Comfort in Raiiway Travei. 

The New York Central is the most comfortable 
route on this continent, and at the end of a 
journey of a thousand miles on the lines of this, 
“America’s Greatest Railroad,” you feel almost 
as fresh as if you had never left home. 


A copy of the “ Illustrated Catalogue” of the “ Four-Track Series” will be sent free, post- 
paid, to any address in the world, on receipt of two 2-cent stamps, by George H. Daniels, General 
Passenger Agent, Grand Central Station, New York. 

26 


LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 



W. L. Douglas 

ISTHEBEST. 

Wrlwh riT FOR A KING. 

. CORDOVAN, 

FRENCH AENAMELLED CALF, 

Fine Calf ScKangarool 
^ 3 5 J) POLICE, 3 SOLES. 
.o60$2.WORKlNGMEf^ 

-EXTRA FINE- 

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FOR CATALOGUE 
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Over One Million People wear the 


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W. L. Douglas $3 & $4 Shoes 


All our shoes are equally satisfactory 

They $:ive the best value for the money. 
They equ£^ custom Shoes in style and fit. 
Their wearing: qualities are unsurpassed. 
The prices are uniform,— stamped on sole. 
Prom $i to $3 saved over other makes. 

Tf your dealer cannot supply you we can. 


I don’t want 



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but I would 
like to emanci- 
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Bias 
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on their dresses, one binding will 
save the work and expense of put- 
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“Look for “ S. H. & M.” First Quality on the label of 
every bolt you buy. 


“ S. H. & M.” Dress Stays are the Best- 



LADIES! 


This is an Oil Dressing. 
Preserves leather. Gives 

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& THURSTON, 71 Barclay St., N. Y., Mfrs. 



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A valuable book entitled “Secrets of 
the Toilet,” containing new receipts, sent 
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producing an exquisite complexion without 
paint, powders, or poisonous compounds ; 
rational method of curing all skin diseases, 
improving the form, etc. Many ladies made 
beautiful by following directions contained 
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Address, with 2-cent stamp, 

BORDEAUX TOILET CO., 132 BOYLSTON ST., 
BOSTON, MASS. 


bare 
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All drugrgists or by mail 
60cts. 44 Stone St., N. Y. 


27 


WITH THE WITS. 



28 


Boy (readins^'). — “Suddenly the darkness became intense, and Wild Ike determined to sell 
dearly. The next flash of lightning revealed the presence of forty redskins. Bang ! went his 


LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 



Columbia Bicycles 

THE STANDARD FOR THE WORLD. 

$100.00 for all Single Models, 

Tandem, $150.00. 


Hartford Bicycles 

$80.00. 

The equal of any other bicycle except the 
Columbia in quality, design, and finish. 


Wizard Bicycles 

$60.00. 

Splendid machines of sterling quality, grace- 
ful in design, handsome and attractive. 


26= inch Wizard Bicycles 

$50.00. 

For boys and girls.; also adapted for use by men and women of small stature. 

The superb Columbias are even higher in quality, superior 
ir. beauty and grace, and more complete in their adaptability to 
riding needs than ever before, while, as a result of larger pro- 
duction and improved methods, lower in price. 

The Hartford and Wizard Bicycles are made under our super- 
vision by the Hartford Cycle Co., owned and directed by us, 
whose product will in 1895 through our agencies. 

Pope Manufacturing Co., 


Boston, 

221 Columbus Ave. 


Providence, 

124 Mathewson St, 


HARTFORD. 
New York, 

U2 Warren Street. 


Buffalo, Chicago, 

609 Main St. 291 Wabash Ave. 

BROOKLYN: BALTIMORE; PHILADELPHIA: WASHINGTON: 

Brooklyn Cycle Co., Eisenbrandt Cycle Co., Hart Cycle Co., District Cycle Co., 

555 Fulton St. 311 E. Baltimore St. 816 Arch St. 452 Pennsylvania Ave., N.W. 

A Columbia Agency is probably in your town. We want one if there is not. 


The Columbia 
Catalogue . . 

is a work of art. Your 
knowledge of bicycle construc- 
tion and advancement will not be com- 
plete until you see it. Free by calling 
at any agency, or by mail for two 2-c. stamps. 


The Columbia 


Desk Calendar 


You 


for 1895 (tenth annual 
issue) has a leaf for every day, 
and is full of pictures and bright 
thoughts on outdoor life and bicycling, 
need it. Mailed for xo cents in stamps. 


29 


LIPPINCOTl^S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 



The Model 
Railroad 
of America 

Perfect Construction, 
Superb Equipnnent, 
Able Management. 


THE LINE BETWEEN 

Philadelphia and New York 

is conceded by eminent railway authorities to be the finest 
piece of railroad in America. 


THE ROYAL ROUTE 

BETWEEN 

Philadelphia^Atlantic City 

is famed for the quick and efficient movement of its trains. 


THE READING is the favorite route for all points in 
Interior Pennsylvania. 

I. A. SWEIQARD, C. G. HANCOCK, 

General Superintendent. General Passenger Agent. 


30 


LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


THE PENNSYLVANIA COMPANY 

FOR INSURANCES ON LIVES AND 
GRANTING ANNUITIES, 

No. 517 CHESTNUT STREET, 

INCORPORATED MARCH 10, 1812. 
CHARTER PERPETUAL. 

(TRUST AND SAFE DEPOSIT CO.) 

CAPITAI.. ^2,000, 000 

2 , 000,000 

Chartered to act as EXECUTOR, ADMINISTRA- 
TOR, TRUSTEE, OU AUDI AN, ASSIGNEE, COM- 
MITTEE, RECEIVER, AGENT, etc.; and for the 
faithful performance of all sucli duties all its Capital 
and Surplus are liable, 

ALL TRUST INVESTMENTS ARE KEPT 
SEPARATE AND APART FROM THE ASSETS 
OF THE COMPANY. 


INCOME COLLECTED AND REMITTED. 

INTEREST ALLOWED ON MONEY DEPOSITS. 

SAFES IN ITS BURGLAR-PROOF VAULTS 
FOR RENT. 


The protection of its Vaults for the preservation 
of WILLS offered gratuitously. 

Gold and Silver-Plate, Deeds, IMortgages, etc., re- 
ceived for safe-keeping under guarantee. 


HENRY N. PAUL, President. 

JARVIS MASON, Trust Officer. 

L. O. CLEEMANN, ASS’T TRUST OFFICER. 
JOHN J. R. CRAVEN, SECRETARY. 

C. S. W. PACKARD, Treasurer. 

WM. L. BROWN, Ass’t Treasurer. 




Lindley Smyth, 

Henry N. Paul, 
Alexander Biddle, 
Anthony J. Antelo, 
Charles W. Wharton, 
Edward H, Coates, 


Eugene Delano. 


Peter C. Hollis, 
John R. Fell, 
William W. Justice, 
Craiqe Lippi ncott, 
Edward S. Buckley, 
Beauveau Borie. 


r 


.JTJTmxnJTJTJinJTJTJTJTJTJT^ 


FLORIDA 




MODEL COMMUNITY in Southern 

amidst 26 clear lakes ; 
high, rolling pine 
lands, free from mal- 
aria, swamps, and freezing. 

No Kace Problem, because No Negroes. 

No Temperance Question — No Liquor. 

“Start Right, Keep Right.” 

500 Northern people ; Church, School, P. O., Stores, 
etc. ; 80 homes and families located the past year ; 
600 acres planted in Pine-apples, Lemons, Oranges, 
Grapes, etc. 1000 tracts already sold ; many resold 
at 100 to 400 per cent, advance. S2 and upwards per 
mo. accepted. Cheap Hotel Board, cheap lumber, 
cheap transportation. Full information in our 
Florida Homeseeker monthly, 50 cts. a year. Sample 
Free. The Florida Development 

Avon Park, Fla., or 99 Franklin 


JTJT^ 


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DENVER MORTGAGES, 

ising city with vast, rich tributary territory yet to develop. 
Great gold mining expansion. Safely made far Western 
loans are, after all, the best investment. Low valuations 
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John E. Leet, 1515 Tremont St., Denver, Col. 


HOMES 


BY THE SEA. 


Protected by 
beautiful Is- 
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abundance. Lemons, Oranges, 
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perfection. Climate delightful, Summerand Winter. Land fertile, 
high and dry. p | D I ^ A comparatively unknown that 
A nook in P offers to settlers and to Win- 

ter visitors advantages not found elsewhere. Seekers after health, 
pleasure, or profit should read our Booklet, sent free, 

THE LEMON BAYLAND CO.,1402 Old Colony Building, CHICAGO. 


HOW MUCH 

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D. J. Avery, President. C. A. Capwell, Secretary. 
OFFICES : 

Home Insurance Building, N. E. cor. Adams and La Salle Sts. 
Please mention Lippi ncott’s when writing. 



LANCUASES SPOKEN 

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XXOIOTQ 


Realty Investments. 

Don’t Miss a Chance to Make Money. 

Windsor, Natural Gas City, on Detroit River. 
Property one mile from Detroit City Hall. Boom 
coming. Buv now. Exchanges of real estate 
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HANNAN, REAL ESTATE, DETROIT, mCR., 

153 GRISWOLD ST. established is years. 


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FAT FOLKS. 

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HOW TO SUCOEED. 

A well-written treatise on Personal Magnetism and its 
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mentioning name and date of this paper and enclosing loc, 
to Prof. Anderson, Masonic Temple, Chicago. This book 
should be read by everyone as itmeans the bettermentof 
moral, mental and physical manhood and womanhood. 
lOO pp. book on HYPNOTISM, lOc. Large book $2. 




LIPPINCOTTS MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


c 


9 


SAFEST 

FASTEST 

FINEST 





TRAINS IN THE 
WORLD 



ARE THE 





J5.oyal piue Jjine JTains 

BETWEEM 

NEIW VORK, PHIL.ADELPHIA, 

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FRUIMIMING VIA 

Baltimore and Ohio Railroad. 


All trains are Vestibuled from end to end, Heated by Steam, Lighted by Pliitsch Gas, 
Protected by Pullman’s Anti-Telescoping Device, and operated under 
Perfected Block Signal System. 



"'Baltimore & Ohio Railroad 

Maintains a complete Service of Vestibuled 
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NEW YORK, 

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ST. LOUIS, 

AND CHICAGO, 

EQUIPPED WITH 

Pullman Palace Sleeping Cats, 

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ALL B. A 0. TRAINS 


between the 


Eastj^^Westi^i^WasbingtoD. 


PRINCIPAL OPPICES : 


211 Washington St., Boston, Mass. 

415 Broadway, New York. 

N. E. Cor. 9th and Chestnut Sts., Phila., Pa. 

Cor. Baltimore and Calvert Sts., Baltimore, Md. 


R. B. CAMPBELL, 

General Managrer. 


707 15th St., N.W., cor. N.Y. Ave., Washington, D.C. 
Cor. Wood St. and Fifth Ave., Pittsburg, Pa. 

Cor. Fourth and Vine Sts., Cincinnati, O. 

193 Clark St., Chicago, 111 
105 North Broadway, St. Louis, Mo. 


} Baltimore, Md. { ^”'^^Ge?e;afp?s«nte'rA.ent. 


32 


LIPPJNCOTT'S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


NEW YORK 


EBERHARD FABER CHICAGO 


PENCILS, PEN-HOLDERS, ERASERS, 

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FOR EVERYWHERE. 



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PRINTING INK WORKS 

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send at once to John Sebastian, G.T.A.C., R.I. & 
P.R.R., Chicago. TEN CENTS, in stamps, per pack for the 
slickest cards you ever shuffled. For ^l.CIO you will receive 
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plates for let- 
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33 




A Novel Advertisement.— Continued. 


WITH THE WITS. 


\ 



34 


Bottles.— “ Look out, here, you- 


LIPPINCOTT8 MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


THE 

Best Playing Cards 

are those offered by the Burlington 
Route. We will send you, on re- 
ceipt of price, a dozen packs for 
^1.7^, or lots of one gross and 
over, for ^17.^0 per gross. Ex- 
press charges prepaid. These are 
manufacturers’ prices. 

• P. S. EUSTIS, 

General Passenger Agent, C. B. & Q. Railroad, 

i 

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Trie, ^'Tl5r^<^TI0N DELVED FROM 

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PERSONAL LOVELINESS 

is greatly enhanced by a fine set of teeth. On the other hand, 
nothing so detracts from the effect of pleasing features as yellow or 
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PATENTS 


Thomas P. Simpson, Washington, D.C. 
No attorney’s fee until patent obtained. 
Write for Inventor’s Guide. 


MAGIC 


ILANTERNS WANTED If 

lHARBACHjiCO.809FilbertSt.Phila.Pa. 


35 





LIPPIXCOTTS MAGAZINE ADVERTISER, 


Lippincott’s Pronouncing 
Gazetteer of the World. 

EDITION OF 1893, WITH LATEST CENSUS RETURNS. 
NEWLY REVISED AND ENLARGED. 


A complete Pronouncing Gazetteer or Geographical Dictionary of the 
World, containing notices of over 125,000 places, with recent and authentic 
information respecting the Countries, Islands, Rivers, Mountains, Cities, 
Towns, etc., in every portion of the globe. Originally edited by Joseph 
Thomas, M.D., LL.D., author of Lippincott’s Pronouncing Biographical 
Dictionary,” “Thomas’s Pronouncing Medical Dictionary,” etc., etc. 

One imperial 8vo volume of nearly 3000 pages. Library sheep, $12.00 ; half Turkey, 
I15.00 ; half Russia, I15.00. Patent Index, 75 cents additional. 

In the preparation of this edition of Lippincott’s Pronouncing Gazetteer of the 
World,” not only have notices of a large number of new places been now for the first 
time included in its pages, — places that were unknown when former editions were 
issued, — but the contents of the entire volume have been subjected to such a thorough 
revision as, it is believed, will easily maintain for it the position, which it has so long 
occupied, of being without a rival among works of its class in the English language. 
Especially has it been the care of the editors, in the prosecution of their labors, to 
embody in the work such recent information as has lately been rendered available by 
the publication of the new census returns of our own and foreign countries and of other 
kindred works, and to so arrange this information that it will be practically useful for 
casual reference and convenient for those who may desire to make a more thorough 
acquaintance with the minutise of geographical facts. 

Embraced in the more important improvements in the body of the work may be 
named the revision of the articles on the several States and Territories (including 
articles now first inserted on North Dakota, South Dakota, and Oklahoma) by well- 
known experts in physical and political geography ; the renewed descriptions of the 
principal cities in the United States, chiefly by residents thereof ; notes on recent 
explorations and discoveries by European governments in foreign lands (Asia, Africa, 
etc.), with statistical information relating to the colonies heretofore established there ; 
and a vast number of minor changes in the notices of the cities, towns, and villages of 
our own and foreign countries. 


TESTIMONIALS. 

The volume is greatly in advance of any other geographical dictionary itt the language, 
and is entitled to a generous welcome from the student of science, the man of business, the 
journalist, and the members of the other learned professions, the men of political office and 
affairs, and the curious readers of the family circle .” — New York Tribune. 

‘‘The value and importance of ‘ LippincotPs Gazetteer of the World’ can scarcely be 
estimated in dollars and cents. Were it impossible to obtain its like, no money would com- 
pensate for its deprivation. It is without a peer in its special design and purpose, and, for 
thoroughness, completeness, and comprehensiveness, is unmatched by any publication of the 
kind in this country, if not in the world. This is not extravagant eulogium, as a careful 
examination of the contents of the ponderous volume will show .” — Chicago Evening Journal. 

‘‘Such a volume as this is the inseparable companion of the unabridged dictionary of the 
language on the table of the writer and reader. It is the invaluable result of vast and intelli- 
gent labor, most appreciated by those who know the most .” — New York Observer. 

‘‘ No other work in English, so far as we are aware, rivals this in accuracy and thorough- 
ness, and if the publishers had chosen to continue the issue of the original edition, with only 
such slight revisions as it might have been convenient from time to time to make, there would 
have been little danger of its being superseded by any other work for a considerable time to 
come. At least the work ma5^ be described, without exaggeration, as an indispensable one for 
public and private libraries, for students, and for all who desire authentic information concern- 
ing their own and other countries .” — Boston Journal. 


For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent direct by 

J. B. LIPPINOOTT COMPANY, Publishers, Philadelphia. 


36 


LIPPINCOTT8 MAGAZINE ADVERTISER, 




LEVATORS 



5 afery 3 peed 

and 

^Iconomy Combined 

ROCHESTER, N.Yl Sead Tor Catalogue. 

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How to Plan and Build them. 

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A book showing houses 
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3-4 Moffat Block. Detroit, Mich. 


ORNAMENTAL GLASS 

for your parlor transom, or BKVELiED PLATE glass, ora 
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d1rect¥ron?the®(actS?y At Manufacturers’ Prices ? 

Write for our prices on any kind of ornamental glass for house 

(MenUon ad) FLANAGAN & BIEDEN WEQ • 

Art Glass Mfrs. CHICAGO, ILLS. 


OF ALL VENTILATING DEVICES, THE 

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We know all about ventilation. We have several 
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MERCHANT & CO., Incorporated, 

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SEE THE CHRISTY EDGE 4^ 


Ask your dealer to show you the Christy Knives. They have a peculiar wavy edge which makes them the best cutting 
knives ever devised. There is nothing like them, and wherever tried they are at once adopted. Make carving a pleasure. 
Cut new bread as thin as old, cake without crumbs, meat without shreds. CHRISTY KNIFE CO., Fremont. 0. 



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WONDERFUL 


TRY WHAT 10 CENTS SENT 

H. HARTK, Jeweler, 
Roctiester, New York, 

WILL BRING. 


37 





A Novel Advertisement.— Continued. 


WITH THE WITS. 



38 


young scoundrel ! IHl 


LIPPINCOTTS MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


SIMPLEX PRINTER. 



Simple, Cheap, and Effective. 

Endorsed by over 50,000 Users. 

From an original, on ordinary paper with any pen, 100 
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INDREWS foldins 

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RELIABLE!! 

LAWYERS, BANKERS, Insurance Companies, Merchants or 
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[Upon the theory of T)R. CHITRCHILjLi and experience 
^with McARTUUR’S SYRUP as a Tissue Builder, i. 
$1.00 at Druggists. Ask vour physician about it. Xi 

Pamphlet on the CURE of CONSUMPTION, FREE. ♦ 
Physician’s correspondence solicited. A 

McABTHUR HYPOPHOSPHITE CO., P. 0. Box 2423 I, BOSTON . 4 



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Kimball’s Anti-Rheumatic Ring, 

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Sole Agents, 695 Girard Bldg., Phlla., Pa. 



in the gardens around Eden, has there been 
seen the peer of our gorgeous Catalogue for 
1895 of 


Everything The Garden 

This Catalogue is really a book of 160 pages, 
9x11 inches, containing over 500 engravings 
and 8 colored plates of Seeds and Plants. And 
as all are drawn from nature, we show, as in a 
looking-glass, the best of the old and the 
latest of the new. 

To trace advertising, and give our Catalogue 
the largest possible distribution, we make the 
following unusually liberal offer : 

Every Empty Envelope 

Counts as Cash. 


To every one who will state where this ad- 
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20 cents (in stamps), we will mail the Catalogue, 
and also send, free of charge, our famous 50- 
cent Newport Collection of Seeds, containing 
one packet each of New White Sweet Pea 
“Emily Henderson,” New Butterfly Pansy, 
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red envelope, which, when emptied and re- 
turned, will be accepted as a 25-cent cash pay- 
ment on any order of goods selected from 
Catalogue to the amount of $1.00 and upward. 


IPetebPeiidebsoii&Go.! 

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lELY’S CREAM BALM CURES 


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[PRICE 50 CENTS. ALL DRUGGISTS 



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SPECIAL.— When ordering, mention Lippincott’s Maga- 
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Permanently, root and branch, In 5 minutes, withont pain, 

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39 



LIPPINCOTT'8 MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


Worcester’s Unabridged 

Quarto Dictionary. 

Sheep, marbled edges, $10.00; half Turkey morocco, marbled edges, $12.00 ; half 
Russia, marbled edges, $12.00; half Russia, vermilion edges, $12.50 ; full 
Russia, marbled edges, $16.00 ; full Russia, vermilion edges, $16.50; 
full Turkey, marbled edges, $16.00 ; full Turkey, extra gilt 
edges, $17.00. The above styles with Denison’s 
Patent Index, 75 cents additional. 


^ MASSIVE volume of 2126 pages, containing over 120,000 words in its 
WA vocabulary, with their orthography as sanctioned by the best usage ; 

their pronunciation according to the present usage among scholars, 
literary men, and cultured society ; their definitions in concise, accurate, 
and complete form ; and their etymologies drawn from the most reliable 
sources, and including all the important results of the latest researches 
in philology. 

It contains a New Pronouncing Biographical Dictionary of nearly 
12,000 personages; a New Pronouncing Gazetteer of the World, noting 
and locating over 20,000 places. Containing also a Supplement of over 
12,500 New Words, recently added, together with a table of 5000 words 
in general use, with their synonymes. Illustrated with wood-cuts and full- 
page plates. 

Worcester’s Dictionary is the Standard Authority on all questions of 
Orthography, Pronunciation, or Definition, and is so recognized by all the 
colleges of the country, by the principal newspapers and periodicals, by 
such leaders of American thought as Phillips Brooks, Edward Everett 
Hale, George Bancroft, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Irving, Marsh, Agassiz, 
Henry, etc., and has been publicly recommended as the standard authority 
by the leading newspapers of England and America. Leading book- 
publishers recognize Worcester as the highest authority, and millions of 
school-books are issued every year with this great work as the standard. 


TESTIMONIALS. 

“The new and authentic etymologies, the conciseness and completeness of the defi^ 
nitions, the nicety with which the different shades of meaning in synonymes are dis- 
tinguished, and the conscientious accuracy of the work in all its departments, give it, 
in my judgment, the highest claims to public favor.” — Wii^niAM Cui^nEN Bryant. 

“I am a thorough believer in Worcester’s system of orthography, and I consider 
myself fortunate in possessing a copy of the new edition of a Dictionary which / have 
always regarded as the best in the English language. The biographical and geo- 
graphical matter given in the new issue adds, of course, greatly to the value of the 
work.” — Hon. T. B. Atdrich, Author. 'Editor Atlantic Monthly. 

“I lose no opportunity of saying that I find Worcester’s large Dictionary the most 
convenient for use, and by far the best authority known to me as to the present use of 
the English language.” — Edward Everett Haee. 

“On questions of orthography I shall make it (Worcester) my standard.” — Hon. 
George Bancroft. 


For sale by all BooksellerSy or will be sent direct by 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, Publishers, 


40 


LIPPINCOTT8 MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


Do 

Your 

Part. 


Do your part, and do your best— 
Nature then will do the rest. 

Part of your part is to secure the 
best Se^s. Ask your dealer for 

FCRRrS SEEOS. 

They always fill the bill. If you 
would know the best methods of 
planting and growing them, send for 
Ferry^s Seed Annual for iSg^y Free. 

D. M. FERRY&CO., DETROIT, MICH. 



IT IS IMPOSSIBLE to overestimate the value of 
warm feet at this season of the year. THOUSANDS 
of VADUABDE DIVES are sacrificed every year in 
consequence of DAMP, CODD FEET. Cold feet lay 
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cure RHEUMATISM, NEURADGI A and S WEDD- 
ING OF THE DIMES. Try a pair of them quick, 
$1.00. or 3 pair for $2.00, any size, by mail. 
DADAI VCIQ CURED without any medicine. 

■ AnilL 1 OlO Rheumatism, Spinal Diseases and 

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1401 Masonic Temple, Cliicajjo, 111. 


DETECTIVES! 

Bright, young and middle-aged men wanted in every locality 

* to act as PRIVATE DETECTIVES under instructions. 

* Previous experience not required or necessary. Send stamp 

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Circulars free. Gem Rubber Co., Kansas City, Mo. 


PATENTS 


Procured. GROVE & CO., Wash- 
- - _ ington, D.C. Special accommoda- 

tions as to fees. Write for particulars. 12 years' experience. 


ARE YOU DEAF? 

DON’T YOU WANT TO HEAR? 

'T'HE AURAPHONE will help you if you do. It is a recent 
^ scientific invention which will restore the hearing of any one 
not born deaf. When in the ear it is invisible, and does not 
cause the slightest discomfort. It is to the ear what glasses are to 
the eye, an ear spectacle. Enclose stamp for particulars. Can bo 
tested FREE OF CHARGE at 

THE AURAPHONE CO’S Offices, 

716 Metropolitan Building, Madison Square, New York, 
or 607 Masonic Temple, Chicago. 


PATENTS. 


Send for inventors’ pamphlet. 15 years' 
experience. Moderate fees. Walter Don- 
aldson & Co., 1003 F St., Washington, D.C. 


41 


A Novel Advertisement— Continued. 


WITH THE WITS. 



42 


Boy. — ‘^H iss ! ketch ^im, Tiger ! ketch hm ! 


LIPPINCOTT^S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


Williams 



Prints like a Press — no blur. 
The Inking runs itself, and 
it writes in plain sight. 

Adopted by the British War Department, 

We have ONE order for 3000 Machines. 

The action is a new invention that carries the type the 
smallest possible distance in printing, affording the highest 
speed ever produced. No operator can approach its possible 
speed, and you can beat your record on it. It is much easier 
for beginners to learn than the “ blind machines.” Send for 
illustrated catalogue. Agents wanted. 


“Improvement the Order of the Age.” 

Tlie Sii Premier Typewriter. 



The Smith Premier Typewriter is 
working a revolution in typewriter 
circles ; and why should it not, as the 
latest improvements are sought for ? 

Do not purchase without asking us 
to mail to your address our beautifully 
illustrated and descriptive catalogue. 

THE SMITH PREMIER TYPEWRITER CO., 

SYRACUSE, N. Y., U. S. A. 


THE WILLIAMS TYPEWRITER CO., 319 Broadway, N. T. 
Ijondon : 21 Cheapside, E.C. Montreal ; 200 Mountain St. 


Branch Offices in all of the principal cities in the United 
States. 



RESPECTIVE OF PRICE, THE BEST-TRIAE PROVES IT?- 


NATIONAL 

TYPEWRITER. 

Typewriter Co., PMIada., Pa. 



“UP TO DATE" 

The most complete 
I writing machine made. 
Ask for Special Offer 
to readers of Lippin- 
I cott’s, good until Feb. 
15, 1895. 

Catalogue “ 14” Free. 


Indelible and Reliable .... No Hot Irons .... No Exposure to Fire. 


MELANYL 


The New English Indelible Marking Ink. 


Melanyl assumes on the fabric a most Intense Jet Black Color after washing, and is absolutely 
indelible. Ask your Stationer or Druggist for it. 

Sample Bottle mailed on receipt of 25 cents. J« LIPPINCOTT COAIPANY, Philadelphia, Pa. 


BARGAINS 

ALL MAKES AT 

HALF PRICE. 

Shipped anywhere for examination. Exchanging a spe- 
cialty; unprejudiced advice given. Price-list of new and 
second-hand Bicycles, or catalogue of Typewriters, free. 
Ask for Catalogue H. 

TYPEWRITER HEADQUARTERS, 186 Monroe St., Chicago. 




THE SIMPLEX TYPEWRITER 

GUARANTEED to 

do as good work as any 
high-priced machine. 
Specially adapted for 
use in private corre- 
spondence. Sent by 
mail or express prepaid 
on receipt of $2.75. In 
handsome walnut box, 
nickel-plated handle 
and hinges, 50 cents extra. Send for circular. SIMPLEX 
TYPEWRITER CO., 86 E. 13th Street, New York. 



43 



A Novel Advertisement. — Continued. 


WITH THE WITS. 



44 


Bottles. — “ Police ! police ! Help ! 


LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 



The Drawing Room Autocrat nl 
Is The Lamp Shade. 


*E" 


TO PREVENT OUTRAGE. 


2 ^ 

4 of hangings, furniture, paintings, woodwork, 


♦ Its tints can so easily spoil the color effects 

X '' ' ' 

♦ etc. Therefore match your lamp shade to 
your room. Our illustrated catalogue (sent 
on receipt of two cents) will save you this 
danger. 

Pierce and Gardiner, 79 Franklin Street, Boston. 


* 3 ^ 

.i3. 




WE WANT YOU TO TRY 

LORRIHEB'S EXCELSIOR 

HAIR FORCER. 

IT CURES BALDNESS 


I 10,000 14K Solid Gold-Plated 
I WATCHES with Elegant Chain 

( and Charm to Match. 

VAEUE, $15.00. 


ARE YOU BALD? 

Eorrime ’s Excelsior Hair 
Forcer positively produces a lux- 
uriant growth of hair on the bald- 
est head, rapidly cures bald 
patches, scanty partings, hair 
falling, thin eyebrows and eye- 
lashes, and restores gray hair to 
BEFORE AND original color. Absolutely forces 
AFTER USE. whiskers and moustaches on the 
smoothest face at any age. Testimonials free. Sold by 
N. Lorrimkr & Co., 107 N. Paca St., Baltimore, Md. 







READ OER GRAND OFFER I 

DON’T SllSS THIS CHANCE I 

If you wish to secure one of 
I our elegant premium watches and 
I chains, ladies' or gents' size, out 
I out this advertisement and send it 
' to us, together with One Dollar, for 
I a large bottle of Lorrimer's Ex- 
celsior Hair Forcer, which will be 
J promptly forwarded, together with 
our grand offer, which we ask you 
to show to your friends. We offer 
you this elegant engraved watch 
and handsome chain AS A PRE- 
MIUM to induce you .to recom- 
mend our preparation in your vi- 
cinity. By this means we shall 
make thousands of customers 
which will amply repay RS for our 
outlay. REMEMBER we send 
you the watch and chain by regis- 
tered mail at our own expense and 
risk. The watch is exactly like 
the engraving, a perfect time- 
keeper, guaranteed* V us for 5 
years. It is a gem of beauty and 
quite as good as many sold for fif- 
teen or twenty dollars. The watch 
and chain doesn’t cost you one 
cent; and if when you examine 
them you don’t think them well 
worth 15 tin:\es one dollar, you may 
keep them and we will cheerfully refund your money in 
full. If on the other hand, you are satisfied, do us all the 
good you can. This is a solid offer by a bona-fida business 
house. No fake. No humbug. No lottery and no toy 
watch; we refer you to any newspaper office in Baltimore 
to our standing. Send in your order at once. Write your 
name and location distinctly, and send one dollar and this 
advertisement to 

N. EORRIMER & CO., 

107 Paca Street. Baltimore, Md. 



DR. TARR’S 

Creme 
Dentifrice 

is especially intended to neutrafize 
theacids which cause decay and to 
prevent re-deposits of tartar on the 
teeth. Perfumes the breath and 
makes an elegant toilet preparation. Put up 
in tubes. More economical than powder. 
Sold by Druggists or by mail postpaid for 25c. 
Dr. W.W. TARR, Rooms 8-I2146 State St. .Chicago. 



M. State St 

cHicAGoi teeth. 


DE BRILLIANT AND EMINENT ! Everybody. 

^ The new physiological discovery— Memory Restor- 
ative Tablets quickly and permanently increase the 
memory two to ten fold, and greatly augment intellectual 
power; difficult studies, etc., easily mastered ; truly marvel- 
lous, highly endorsed. Price, $1.00, postpaid. Send for 
circular. 

MEMORY TABEET CO., 

114 5th Avenue, New York. 


SUPERFLUOUS HAIR. 

^Largest establishment in the world for the treat- 
Iment of Skin, Scalp and Nerves. John H. Wood- 
^bury. Dermatologist, 127 W. 42d St,, N. Y. City. 
Inventor of Woodbury’s Facial Soap. Send 10c. 
for sample and 150 page book on Dermatology. 



D. L. Dowd’s Health Exerciser. 



For Gentlemen, Ladies, Youths; athlete 
or invalid. Complete gymnasium ; takes 
6 in. of floor- room ; new, scientific, durable, 
cheap. Indorsed by 100,000 physicians, 
lawyers, clergymen, editors, and others 
now using it. Illustrated circular, 40 en- 
gravings. free. Address D. L. DOWD, Sci- 
entific, Physical, and Vocal Culture, 9 E. 
14th Street, New York. 


iSTUDYi 


I with the aid of our exper- 
' ienced teachers will insure a 
thorough knowledge of Book 
keeping, Shorthand, Spelling, 
^ ^ ^ Grammar, Law, Letter Writ- 

ing, Penmanship, Arithmetic, etc. A MONEY M AKING 
business education. We can give the very best instruction right 
AT YOUR OWN HOME, How do wo do it? Send for 
free Catalogue and see. Trial lesson 10 cents, Write to-day to 

RRYANT A STRATTON. 79 Colleae Blda., Buffalo, N.Y. 



Arnica Tooth Soap 

Insures beautiful pearly teeth, an aromatic 
breath and healthy mouth and gums. Abso- 
lutely no injury to enamel. No soapy taste. At 
all druggists or by mail 26 cents. Try it. 

C. H. STRONG A CO., CHICAGO. 


45 




A Novel Advertisement.— Concluded. 


WITH THE WITS. 





Boy. — “ Come along, Tiger ; I guess he won^t want dis thing no more. 


Special Bargain Books. 


Some Essays of Elia. 

By Charles Lamb. An exquisite edition of the 
best known “ Essays of Elia.” Over loo illus- 
trations by C. O. Murray. l2mo, cloth, $ 2 . 00 . 
Our price, 50 cents ; by mail, 62 cents. 

The Viking Age. 

The early history, manners, and customs of the 
ancestors of the English-speaking nations. Illus- 
trated from the antiquities discovered in mounds, 
cairns, and bogs, as well as from the ancient Sagas 
and Eddas. With 1366 illustrations and maps. 
2 vols., 8vo, ^5^7.50. Our price, ^2.00. 

Saracinesca. 

By F. Marion Crawford. A handsome i2mo 
volume of 334 pages. Good type and good paper. 
Our price, 40 cents; by mail, 52 cents. 

Chambers’s Encyclopaedia. 

New Edition. Rewritten and enlarged by Amer- 
ican and English editors. New type, new sub- 
jects, new illustrations, new maps. Complete in 
ten volumes. 17,560 columns of reading matter, 
containing over 11,000,000 words, 3037 illustra- 
tions, 92 two-page colored maps, 70 plain maps. 
In half-leather binding, bound to our special order, 
and in every respect equal to the usual ^^^45. 00 sets, 
at ^525 .00. 

Press Notices. 

** Chambers’s Encyclopaedia is now the best and most authori- 
tative book of reference on all varieties of subjects that exists in 
the English language." — Philadelphia Evening Bulletin. 

"As a working encyclopaedia for general library use, * Cham- 
bers's’ cannot be excelled." — Boston Advertiser. 

** Those who wish an encyclopaedia may take our word for it 
that they can find nothing better. It is admirable in every 
respect." — New York Examiner. 

The Magic City. 

A truly beautiful volume of original photographic 
views of the World’s Great Columbian Exposi- 
tion, and its treasures of art, to which is added 
twenty-four pages of views of the California Mid- 
winter Fair. Printed in royal purple tint, with 
descriptive matter for each view. 288 pages of 
views, making a beautiful souvenir of the two 
great fairs. Oblong- quarto volume, size ii by 13 
inches. Cloth, plain edges, ^1.90; half leather, 
marbled edges, $ 2 . 1 $ \ full leather, embossed, gilt 
edges, $2.65 ; full morocco, cushion-padded sides, 
gilt edges, ^4.40. 


Century Magazine, 

For the year ending October, 1893. Two large 
volumes of 960 pages each. Over eight pounds 
of choicest reading, bound in the usual style — 
olive green. Our price, $ 2.00 the set. No need 
to remind you that the foremost writers and illus- 
trators meet in its pages. 

From the Pyramids to the Acropolis 
and Ready ! Ay, Ready ! and Other 
Addresses. 

By Rev. T. DeWitt Talmage. Both of the 
above in handsome i6mo volumes, in white cloth, 
with silver stamping. Made to sell for 75 cents 
each. Our price, 15 cents each ; by mail, 22 cents. 

Point Lace and Diamonds. 

Poems. By George A. Baker, Jr. Square 
i6mo, red line. Our price, 30 cents; by mail, 
38 cents. 

Recent International Art. 

A series of 16 magnificent full-page photo-etch- 
ings, selections from the portfolios of Barth, 
Rosenthal, Wagner, Vinea, Tito Conti, and others, 
with Biographical and descriptive text by Walter 
Rowlands. Size, 12 by 17 inches. Emblematic 
cover designs. Made to sell at ^7.50. Our price, 
$ 2 . 2 $. 

Recent French Art. 

A collection of sixteen beautiful photo-etchings 
reproduced from the best paintings recently exe- 
cuted by some of the most celebrated modern 
French masters, Meissonier, Leloir, etc., with 
descriptive text. Size, 12 by 17 inches. Made to 
sell at 57.50. Our price, 52.25. 

Recent German Art. 

Consisting of sixteen beautiful photo - etchings 
reproduced from original paintings, selected from 
the portfolios of the most celebrated German 
artists, including Richter, Makart, Kiessling, 
Piloty, Bleibtreu, and others. With descriptive 
text. Size, 12 by 17 inches. Made to sell at 
57.50. Our price, 52.25. 


John Wanamaker. 


47 


LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


A. A. Vantine & Co. 



Largest Importers : Ja’^an, China, India, Turkey, Persia, Egypt. 

877 and 879 Broadway, New York. 


Japanese Hand=Painted and 


The Largest 5 tock in 
the World. 

All Sizes, Designs, 


Gold Embroidered Screens. 


and Colorings. 


Two-fold, 3 feet high. 

Hand-painted, paper panels, cloth back, 
$1.25 and 1.50. 

Four-fold, 5 feet high. 

Hand-painted, paper panels, cloth back, 
$3.00. 

Four-fold, 53^ feet high. 

Satin panels, gold embroidered, $19.00, 
24.00, and 29.00. 


Four-fold, 43^ feet high. 

Hand-painted, paper 
panels, cloth back, 

$2.25. 

Four-fold, syi ^eet high. 

Black cloth, gold embroidered panels, 
$3.50 and 4.50 each. 

Colored cloth, gold embroidered panels, 
$4.00, 4.50, 5.00, 7.50. 

White satin panels, gold embroidered, 
$33.00 and 42.00. 



Great reductions in our entire line of Screens. 


Attention is invited to our superb line of small 

INDIA AND CHINESE SOLID SILVERWARE. 

Made in Madras, Delhi, Cutch, and Hong Kong, expressly for us. Beautifully 
wrought by hand in repousse and bas-relief. 


Napkin Rings. 

Varied designs, $7.50 and $10.00. 


Necklaces. 

Intricate patterns, $15.00. 


Bracelets. 

Wide variety of Oriental designs, $5.00. 


Card Cases. 

Unique in design, $15.00. 


Match Safes. 

From $3.50, upward. 


Puff Boxes. 

Finely chased, $20.00. 


Also in Tea Services, Card Receivers, Loving Cups, Goblets, etc., etc. 


FOR HOLIDAY SUGGESTIONS, consult our general catalogue. Mailed upon 

application. Send for last number of 'Wantine's Monthly'" (free). 

48 




Cor. Broadway & Duane St., New-York. 

$35,000,000 Saved in Premiums. 



MUTUAL RESERVE BUILDING. 


The total cost for the past 
13 years for ^10,000 insur- 
ance in the Mutual Reserve 
amounts to less than Old 
System Companies charge for 
S4,600 at ordinary life rates 
— the saving, in premiums, 
being equal to a cash dividend 
of nearly 60 per cent. 


188t, The Eloquence of Results. 1894. 


No. OF POLICIES IN FORCE, over 86,000 

Interest Income, annually, exceeds . . . $130,000 

Bi-Monthly Income exceeds 760,000 

RESERVE Emergency Fund 3,790,000 

Death Claims paid, over 20,600,000 

New Business in 1803, over 64,000,000 

INSURANCE IN FORCE exceeds . . 280,000,000 



SOLID THROUGH TRAINS BETWEEN 


CINCINNATI, 
TOLEDO DETROIT. 


Pullman Vestibuled Trains Between 

CINCINNATI, 

INDIANAPOLIS, 

AND CHICAGO. 


Through Car Lines from Cincinnati via 
Indianapolis to St. Louis ; also 
Cincinnati via Indianapolis to 
Decatur, Springfield, 111., 
and Keokuk. 


EXCELLENT POSITIONS OPEN in Its Agency Department, in every 
Town, City, and State to experienced and successful business men, who will 
find the Mutual Reserve the very best Association they can work for. 
CORRESPONDENCE WITH THE HOME OFFICE INVITED. 


WM. M. GREENE, 

General Manager, 


D. G. EDWARDS, 

General Pass. Agent, 


E. B. 




Bresident, 


CINCINNATI, OHIO. 








Absolutely Pure* 

A cream of tartar baking powder. 
Highest of all in leavening strength. 
— Latest United States Government 
Food Report. 

Royal Baking Powder Co., 

io6 Wall St., N. Y. 



2rWp/TheW)nderfu( 
Weber Tone 
is found ONLYmtfje 


These ^ 
fnsihvmenrs are 
construe fed from 
fhe Music ta/is . 

Standpo/nt. 




Tht WONDER of tlie 

WEBER PIANO 

is its tone; that is because it is con- 
structed from the mu^ician^s 
standpoint, and in this respect it is 
distinguished from any other instru- 
ment made. 

Warerooms, Fifth Are., M Sixteenth St., Hew York City. 


Walter Baker & Co. 

The Largest Manufacturers of 

PURE, HIGH GRADE 

lati 

on this continent, have received 

HI6HEST AWARDS 

from the great 

INDUSTRIALa400D 

EXPOSITIONS 

In Europe and America. 

Unlike the Dutch Process, 
no Alkalies or other chemicals or Dyes are used 
in any of their preparations. Their delicious 

^BREAKFAST COCOA 

is absolutely pure and soluble, and 
cus/s less than one cent a cup. 



SOLO BY GROCERS EVERYWHERE. 


WALTER BAKER & CO..j 

DORCHESTER, MASS. 

The Greatest Medical Discovery of the Age. 

KENNEDY'S 

MEDICALJISCOVERY. 

DONALD KENNEDY, of ROXBURY, MASS., 
Has discovered in one of our common 
pasture weeds a remedy that cures every 
kind of Humor, from the worst Scrofula 
down to a common Pimple. 

He has tried it in over eleven hundred 
cases, and never failed except in two cases 
(both thunder humor). He has now in his 
possession over two hundred certificates 
of its value, all within twenty miles of 
Boston. Send postal card for book. 

A benefit is always experienced from 
the first bottle, and a perfect cure is war- 
ranted when the right quantity is taken. 

When the lungs are affected it causes 
shooting pains, like needles passing 
through them ; the same with the Liver 
or Bowels. This is caused by the ducts 
being stopped, and always disappears in 
a week after taking it. Read the label. 

If the stomach is foul or bilious it will 
cause squeamish feelings at first. 

No change of diet ever necessary. Eat 
the best you can get, and enough of it. 
Dose, one tablespoonful in water at bed- 
time. Sold by all Druggists. 


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